


SSJ 2019

by M_D_Wilson



Category: Super Science Friends
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anti-Semitic rhetoric, Dad Jung, Dadsla, Drug abuse reference, F/F, F/M, Gen, Historical References, M/M, Mama Hari, Musical references galore, Religious References, SSJ 2019, Salem!AU, TW: suicidal thoughts, Will tag more effectively as I go to avoid spoilers, balance, cw: suicidal thoughts, oh god that got dark, oh my god they were roommates, oopsie, ssj
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-04-05 20:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 49,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_D_Wilson/pseuds/M_D_Wilson
Summary: Welcome to Wilson’s Super Science June 2019 Extravaganza! Buckle up everyone, because this is going to be your source for development and backstory that you never realized you wanted! Enjoy the next 30 days of madness!





	1. Untold Risks

**Author's Note:**

> Since the Soviet Space Ghouls don’t have actual names, I’ve named my three Ivan, Aleksander, and Andrei (nicknamed Little Andrei). Just to clear that up so nobody gets confused :) Welcome to day one of Super Science June 2019!

If anyone had told Ivan that he’d be chosen for the Sputnik mission, he never would have believed them. He didn’t truly think he would make the cut, but he still tried. He had trained with the other cosmonauts for months, going through emergency repair drill after emergency repair drill until he could fix most anything on Sputnik with both eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back. He had lifted weights and eaten food that was just barely edible in order to prepare for space, for the weight of his suit and any gravitational effects the time portal would have.

 

The entire time he trained, Aleksander was right by his side. Something about the new energy in the air, the hesitant hope that urged on even the frailest of cosmonauts to try harder in their training, it had even infected Aleksander. There was a new shine to his cold grey eyes, a shine that Ivan struggled to ignore in his attempts to remain professional with the other cosmonaut. The thoughts he had about those eyes were dangerous, thoughts that threatened to have the secret police take him away for “questioning” should they ever be uttered.

 

Ivan forced himself to focus on his training. Time in space-away from Aleksander-would do him wonders. That’s what he’d thought, at least. Then came the night the acceptance letters would be sent, and Ivan was still staring at his when there was a knock at his door. He rose from his chair quickly, thoughts running wild with images of masked policemen ready to drag him away for whatever reason.

 

Fortunately, Aleksander was speaking through the door, his low voice a welcoming sound in the quiet of the night. Ivan threw the door open, eyes lighting up first from the sight of Aleksander, then widening at the familiar letter in his hands. He ushered the taller man inside and led him to the kitchen, merely pointing at the letter on his table. Ivan wouldn’t remember the last time silence had been so deafening, his eyes darting between his letter and Aleksander’s.

 

“Open it, Ivan.”, Aleksander finally said. He spoke softly, gently, a little grin curling at his lips. With shaking hands, Ivan obeyed. His eyes scanned the brief congratulations, the instructions for when and where to be in the following month for the real training.

 

“... I got in.”, Ivan whispered. He looked up from the letter, a wide grin spreading across his face that brought a touch of color to Aleksander’s face. “I got in!”, he cheered, paying no mind to the noise he made. At least, he paid no mind until a rough hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth. Aleksander was close, so much closer now, and…

 

“Quiet, Ivan. You know what will happen if the wrong person hears you.”, Aleksander hissed. Ivan only nodded meekly, more than a little weak in the knees as reality hit. If there was a spy-an American spy-in his village’s midst… They would stop at nothing to deter their mission! After a few moments, the hand finally moved away from his mouth. Aleksander looked almost sheepish now, looking Ivan’s face over as if inspecting something priceless for damage.

 

“... You didn’t bruise me, did you?”, Ivan finally asked, breaking the silence that had settled over the two. Aleksander seemed taken aback by the question, but shook his head. “Then… What’s the staring for?”, he asked, now confused. Aleksander looked somewhere off in the distance, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched as he thought something over. Realization dawned on Ivan as his heart simultaneously sank. “You… Wish it was someone else, don’t you?”, he asked.

 

“No!”, was the hasty reply, rough hands finding his shoulders and pulling him close once more. There was a seriousness to Aleksander’s eyes that made Ivan want to squirm, though he settled for looking away. “Look at me, Ivan.”, Aleksander demanded. There it was again, his voice a low roll of thunder that sent shivers down his spine. He tried, he really did try to ignore it! And yet…

 

“Then what is it?”, Ivan asked, almost pleading for an honest answer. Staring back at Aleksander was torture, plain and simple. There was so much hiding within the icy depths of his eyes, so much he couldn’t name. Maybe he didn’t want to name it, if Aleksander really wished it was someone else going to space with him.

 

“I… I _did_ wish it would be you, Ivan.”, Aleksander finally confessed. There was something heartbreaking lurking in his eyes, a certain shine that Ivan wished would disappear. “I trained so hard to be able to go with you-to see the stars with you- now I’m so very frightened Ivan.”, he explained. If he was being honest, Ivan was becoming frightened as well. The way Aleksander spoke was so… _Raw._ It wasn’t like the gentle giant to speak so honestly, so genuinely. To speak of his private feelings on something that was an honor, to say he was _scared_.

 

“You don’t have to be frightened, Aleksander. Sputnik is safe, remember?”, Ivan said, offering up a smile. If safety concerns were his worry, then he could help! He’d done the best at mending panels during their general training, after all. Aleksander only stared back at him, caught somewhere in that delicate place between frustration and confusion.

 

“It isn’t about Sputnik, you… You dumbass!”, Aleksander snapped. He pulled away from Ivan, muttering to himself as he headed for the door. “... Get some sleep, Ivan. You need it for the training.”, he said, shaking his head before he left the little house. Ivan was rooted to his spot in the kitchen, confused and more than a little hurt.

 

Some part of him wanted to chase after Aleksander, to catch him and make him say what had him scared. If he knew, then he could make sure it wouldn’t happen! He’d do anything he could to make sure that Aleksander would stay safe and secure while in space, he would even do all the dangerous repair work himself! But the stubborn man refused to tell him what his issue was, and Ivan refused to chase after someone who wouldn’t be honest.

 

So the training started off on a sour note, the tension between the two palpable. Even Andrei, the other cosmonaut chosen for the mission, was able to gather that something was off. He was quick to sidle up to Ivan and become friendly, though, so it was easy to pretend Aleksander’s coldness didn’t bother him. Andrei even proved to be an adept marksman, using the high tech laser guns with the accuracy and finesse of someone who was most at home with their finger on the trigger.

 

It was amusing to see little Andrei wielding such a powerful weapon with ease, but his real talent was in conversation! He could tell jokes for hours on end, spinning entertaining yarn after yarn and weaving stories together out of nothing like a master poet. Later on, Ivan found out that Andrei _did_ occasionally partake in poetry, and it was admittedly well crafted. This confession only came after hours, when the pair had split a bottle of vodka during their last weekend on Earth.

 

Aleksander had been invited, of course, but had opted to stay at home for “extra training”. Ivan figured he was really going to catch a few extra hours of sleep, but he didn’t bother to comment on the white lie. He had better things to worry about! Like keeping Andrei off his back about Aleksander, for instance. The already chatty man only seemed to become more bold as he drank, asking questions in between spouting sappy poems. The sloppy interrogation only ended when Andrei passed out, giving Ivan a much needed moment of peace and quiet.

 

He hoisted the small man up and carried him off to his bed, figuring that the floor was a less than suitable sleeping place when compared to a proper bed. It would seem that Andrei agreed, for even in his sleep he curled up into the blanket until he was hidden from sight. It was enough to send Ivan into a fit of giggles, one that left him clutching at his sides and gasping for a moment. Once he finally got himself under control, he headed out into the raging blizzard to walk himself home. He hummed something sweet from his childhood, out of tune and only half remembered as he pushed through the biting wind and snow.

 

He was drunk enough to feel comfortable warm and fuzzy outside, just drunk enough that he didn’t notice the extra crunch of snow behind him. Or maybe it was the howling of the winds, like something out of an old babushka’s stories, that blocked it out. Ivan was fumbling with his door when he realized he’d been followed. He whirled around, a snarl baring his teeth and hands curled into fists. Then he blinked owlishly a couple times.

 

“... Alek-”, he began, cut off when Aleksander barged past him and into his home, yanking him inside shortly afterwards. Ivan let out a little yelp of pain when he collided against the wall, shutting his eyes against the way the room spun.

 

“Idiot, you idiot Ivan.”, Aleksander muttered, working his snow covered coat off. There was a brief flash of panic, something vague but primal that screamed for him to run back outside, and…

 

“Aleksander…?”, he whimpered. He was too drunk for this, too tired. Ivan wanted his warm bed. Ivan wanted to lie down and sleep as much as he could, because this was his third to last night on Earth. The other man stopped, eyes like molten silver from the warmth that swirled within. Aleksander looked so… So upset. Ivan didn’t like it when Aleksander was upset. He didn’t deserve to be upset! “Hey, Alek… What’s wrong?”, he asked.

 

Ivan could almost _hear_ Aleksander’s thoughts, loud and just as confused as he was. Confused… What would he have to be confused about? Ivan reached his hand out, little thought to the action as he lightly brushed it against Aleksander’s cheek. Now those lovely silver eyes were hiding, hiding behind eyelids clenched shut so tightly that Ivan pulled away. Or... He tried to, at least. Aleksander’s own hand covered his now, holding it in place.

 

“Don’t…”, he began, voice shaking with something soft that Ivan could _just_ almost place. “Don’t pull away, please.”, he finished. Silver eyes met his own again, shining once more with emotion and _tears, oh god he was crying!_

 

“I won’t, Aleksander. I promise I won’t.”, Ivan replied, hesitating only a moment before he let his other hand rest on the other man’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol messing with his depth perception, but he could’ve sworn Aleksander hadn’t been this close to him a few moments ago. Warm breath ghosting against his face confirmed that, yes, Aleksander was much closer to him. Close enough that their foreheads were touching, close enough that Ivan could feel the warmth radiating from Aleksander’s face, close enough…

 

Ivan let out a muffled sound of surprise when Aleksander kissed him, the pleasant haze brought on by the alcohol clearing for a moment. It was brief, just a gentle brush of Aleksander’s lips on his, and then the taller man was pulling away. His eyes were wide, regret and shame a few of the emotions Ivan could pick out first. In that moment of clearness, that moment where everything fell into place for Ivan, he understood.

 

_“I trained so hard to be able to go with you-to see the stars with you-now I’m so very frightened, Ivan.”_

 

_“It isn’t about Sputnik, you… You dumbass!”_

 

It all made sense a bit late, maybe even too late, if the way Aleksander was trying to pull away meant anything. But Ivan was selfish, much too selfish to let him go now that he had him. He found himself surging forward, catching Aleksander off guard as he kissed him back. There was a moment where he stumbled, sending Ivan into a bit of a panic because he expected to fall now, but then Aleksander steadied himself. He was kissing Ivan properly this time, his hands finding their way to rest on his hips.

 

Ivan would be lying if he said the kiss wasn’t desperate. It was something he had wanted for… For months, at least with Alek. It was like being stuck in the middle of a blizzard with nowhere to take shelter, and suddenly finding himself in a dimly lit, warm tavern. It was everything he wanted, no… It was everything he _needed_ , and it left his head spinning. Aleksander broke the kiss to catch his breath, shivering despite the warmth in Ivan’s home.

 

“ _Ivan_ …”, he whispered, speaking so softly and with such reverence that it brought color to Ivan’s cheeks.

 

“ _Aleksander…”,_ Ivan whispered back, the word more of a prayer-a gospel never written-on his lips. It was stronger than anything Aleksander had ever drank, enough to leave him reeling in the darkened house. One couldn’t tell where Ivan’s body ended and Aleksander’s began, the two clung so closely to each other.

 

“... M’sleepy, Alek.”, Ivan said, resting his face in the crook of Aleksander’s neck. He could _feel_ the other man laugh, something low and rumbling even against the sound of the blizzard outside. None of that mattered, nothing outside this room-this exact moment in time-mattered. Not space, not Sputnik, not the entire continent of Russia. _Nothing_ would ever be more important than Aleksander holding him, guiding him slowly to his room in the back of the house. Helping him out of his damp clothes, pressing little kisses to his face as he did.

 

Then they tumbled into bed together, a warm, tangled mess underneath all the covers and sheets. Ivan had never felt so safe in his entire life. He felt like he could take on anything, anything as long as Aleksander remained by his side...

  
  


**Then everything went wrong.**

  


Nobody had expected to become radiated. Not Ivan, not Aleksander, and certainly not the crew’s jokester, Little Andrei. Something so cruel and unfair couldn’t possibly happen, not when they were all watching the Earth grow smaller and smaller. Not when they experienced the weightlessness of space. Not when they were making history! Yet it did, and little Andrei was the first to fall victim to radiation sickness.

 

It had begun as a simple complaint of an upset stomach, then eventual vomiting. The poor man refused food and drink, insisted it would only make it worse. He became red as his suit from fever, delirious and dizzy in the confines of the satellite. Ivan and Aleksander tried in vain to keep him healthy as he withered away, but soon they began exhibiting symptoms as well. It wasn’t until their skin began to burn and they began to bleed that they realized this wasn’t just a simple virus.

 

**It was severe radiation sickness.**

 

Andrei’s pained cries for help were haunting, but soon became unintelligible as he started to choke on the blood seeping from his gums. Ivan wanted so badly to help him, to soothe his pain or somehow ease his suffering, but he couldn’t. He could barely think outside of his own pain, the feeling of his very body breaking down on the atomic level too much to bear.

 

Ivan wished he had the strength to use the laser gun on Andrei. To put the poor man out of his misery for good. The skin on his arms had began sloughing off, though, and moving lit the exposed nerves and muscle on fire. This was when he knew they’d all die in Sputnik, in this damned satellite that never should have been. Eventually, he closed his eyes and just… Waited. Surely the cold embrace of death would be favorable to this living hell! He must have dozed off at some point because he woke up, still in agony. The only difference now was the lack of lucidity, the color red and smell of decay all he could understand.

 

That, and silence. Andrei had stopped screaming, stopped crying, had… Stopped. Ivan turned his head, a soft groan of pain passing his lips as he felt the skin of his head pull away. His heart nearly stopped at the sight of Andrei.

 

_All of his skin was gone._

 

Every last piece of it, from his forehead to his eyelids to his neck, all gone. Now gleaming bone stared back at him, gazing at him with empty eye sockets that made him shiver. Perhaps that was the fever, perhaps it was the way Ivan swore the bone _moved_ , either way it instilled a vague terror in his soul. A primal urge to move, to get away from death filled his body, and Ivan used his last dregs of strength to shove himself into the corner farthest from Andrei.

 

He wasn’t sure if the pain was worth it in the long run, or the nausea that moving brought on. By now, he didn’t really know much of anything. His mind was clouded with visions of red, red apples that _had_ to be destroyed at any cost. Apples and a man with long, curly hair. The man had to be kept away from the apples, especially ones that fell, and… What was his name? He turned his head, dimly aware that his skin didn’t tear away this time. Good, maybe he was getting better…

 

He saw his reflection in the window, confusion setting in. Bone stared back, a gaping maw open wide from shock. Where were his teeth? When had they gone away? When…

 

When would they get back to Earth? The Soviet Space Ghouls had a very important mission to fulfill, they couldn’t let the curly haired man discover… Discover what? Something to do with the color red…

 

Aleksander watched it from afar with abject horror, watched as Ivan and Andrei-what was left of them-scooted closer to each other. Without a tongue and lips, they couldn’t speak. It didn’t seem like they needed to, though, something in the twitches of their facial bones were adequate. One of them even managed to smile! They were staring at him now, empty eyes looking into his very _soul_ and god, how he missed… Someone. Someone important, special even, someone that brought color to his face with the way they’d said his name…

 

What was his name? The horror turned to a dull panic as tears slid down the expanse of his exposed face. The salt stung against the nerves, but it was nothing compared to the weight of the suit pressing down on the whole of his body. Aleksander closed his eyes, his final sound nothing more than a choked sob as consciousness left his body.

  


Sometime later, maybe it had been hours, maybe years, he awoke. He grinned at the other two in the ship, identical skeleton faces grinning back. They had a mission, a mission more important than anything else in the world, and they were _ready_ to serve their homeland.

 

The Soviet Space Ghouls fell to Earth, ready to find the curly haired man and stop the red from hitting him.


	2. Strategy Regarding the Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would seem that the weekly strategy meetings were finally of use to Ploetz. At least, they were since 326 returned from the Bergen-Belsen camp...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t do too much research into this, so forgive me if there are historical inaccuracies. Expect to see more of 326 in my work, though! Enjoy day 2 of Super Science June!

 

Ploetz both loved and hated the weekly strategic meetings held with his underlings. They were a necessary evil, he supposed, though that thought did little to comfort him when he had to sit through a couple of hours of idiotic ideas. That is… Until one of the clones struck up a plan that seemed befitting of someone in Ploetz’s position.

 

“What if… What if we kidnapped the boy?”, Clone 326 suggested. Ploetz had been drifting in and out, but this caught his attention. Judging by the silence that fell over the other clones, it had caught theirs as well.

 

“... Continue.”, Ploetz said, giving a little wave of his hand in 326’s direction. Clone 326 stood up, back ramrod straight and eyes lit up with a wildfire that Ploetz wasn’t accustomed to seeing.

 

“Well, he’s the youngest of the Super Science Friends, ja?”, he began, picking up the piece of chalk kept on the table. He hesitated, looking back at Ploetz before he began to draw something out on the empty chalkboard. “The others will worry most for him if he’s lost. We’ve seen it-I’ve seen it-in the camps. Mothers who risk life for their children to avoid separation, and ultimately join them in death.”, he continued, voice rising in volume as he got more and more excited.

 

“I see where you’re going with this, 326. Very well, what do you plan for us to do with the boy?”, Ploetz asked, quirking an eyebrow up. 326 grinned, baring startlingly white teeth that seemed ready to take a bite out of whoever was closest. Ploetz suppressed a shiver as he always did at the sight of them. The clones had always been a bit disconcerting regarding some of their physical attributes, but the teeth…

 

“We keep him in a private cell, deprived of food and social stimuli! He’s given all the water he can drink, but nothing to eat.”, 326 explained, looking around at the other clones. Some were nodding along, others furiously taking notes. It would have been amusing if it were any other scenario.

 

“And then what?”, Ploetz prompted, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “Starving him will accomplish what?”, he asked. He could almost see the gears in 326’s head turning, his eyes lighting up when he came up with an answer.

 

“Malnourished children, even those with super-strength, will be especially weakened!”, he exclaimed. Back to the chalkboard he went, scribbling something down furiously in a messy scrawl. When he turned back to fac everyone, the wildfire had turned to a sheen of pure mania. “That is when we finally bring in the portable stove and pot!”, he said. Ploetz smirked, steepling his hands as he observed the other clones. Confusion was the main thing he saw on their faces, though a couple were staring with wide, awed eyes at 326.

 

“So we boil up a lovely stew for the boy, let him smell the cooking meats and vegetables after depriving him of even watery gruel for days…”, Ploetz said, giving a little nod. “Your time in the Bergen-Belsen camp has proven most invaluable, 326. Did the Angel of Death himself teach you that one?”, he asked. 326 was smiling so wide that Ploetz thought his face would split open. It would be a pity if it did, but 326 had revealed more than enough of this plan to no longer be of any use to him.

 

“Ja, Herr Ploetz! Sturmbannführer Dussander was kind enough to allow me to sit in upon an interrogation using the stew pot method.”, 326 explained. Back he went to the chalkboard, jotting down more notes about the quickly forming operation. The mere mention of Sturmbannführer Dussander had the other clones deathly silent, all darting eyes and pale faces.

 

“You believe the boy will give us information about the Super Science Friends?”, Ploetz asked, his words seeped in a venom so potent that it caused 326 to hesitate. “After all, the boy thinks of those rebels as his ‘friends’, dare I say his ‘family’.”, he added, finally standing himself. The sharp squeak of boots filled the room as the clones faced him, standing tall with heads held high. Ploetz took his time as he advanced on 326, delighting in the way other clones-lesser clones-squirmed as he walked by. 326 stared on, mouth drawn into a firm, grim line and eyes fixed on Ploetz’s.

 

“Herr Ploetz, I _know_ the boy will tell all he can.”, 326 stated, speaking with no room for argument. “His kind knows nothing of loyalty, not in the way we do. He _will_ break by my hands. He _will_ betray the rebels. He _will_ draw them to us, and then he _will_ watch them all be slaughtered!”, he continued, that wildfire burning terribly brightly in his eyes once more. His voice has risen to a shout, one that had the other clones flinch away.

 

“And what of the boy then?”, Ploetz asked, voice eerily quiet in the wake of 326’s shout. He was spirited, not yet fully tempered by experience, but his potential was already rather impressive. There might be use of him yet…

 

“We move the boy in a special cattle train to Auschwitz, Herr Ploetz. We march the boy out in front of the others, and we make them watch as we bleed him dry.”, 326 hissed.

 

“... Everyone else, you’re dismissed. Report back to your bunks and think about what 326 here has said. Maybe it will inspire the lot of you to greatness if you see his plan in action.”, Ploetz ordered. The clones nodded, throwing their right arms high as a chorus of “Heil Hitler!” rang out. It was, perhaps, the sweetest music Ploetz had ever heard. The clones filed out in an orderly line, speaking in hushed whispers as they left. The last one to leave dutifully shut the door behind him, putting Ploetz and 326 alone.

 

“... Tell me more of your plan to capture the boy.”, Ploetz said, motioning for 326 to sit. He nodded, looking almost relieved as he sat down across from him. Ploetz took his own seat once again, listening intently as 326 unraveled a plan most sinister…

 

“-and so the decoy, a clone appearing to be of the boy’s age, will finally lure him back to the agreed upon location. We will be ready with our Schlagstöcke. I expect a few casualties, but that is why we send in _fresher_ clones.”, 326 explained, wearing a smirk that seemed to mirror Ploetz’s. “There is no use in wasting experienced soldiers, ja?”, he asked. Ploetz nodded, giving 326 the old up and down with his eyes. He decided he might look better in a uniform more suited for a man of his intelligence, and made a mental note to have a seamstress make him a new one.

 

“Better yet, we take those who have performed poorly to be on the frontline of this assault. While they are being pummeled by the boy, the more experienced clones can strike from behind.”, Ploetz suggested. 326 nodded, a slight inclination of the head all that was needed as he scrawled a few words down onto the paper they were using.

 

“When the boy is beaten into submission, I believe it would be best to take all precautions with him. We know he has super strength, but what of his bones? If they are resilient enough, even our Schlagstöcke will not do long-lasting harm.”, 326 said. Ploetz felt mild surprise at the question, having not have considered that option. In previous fights, though, he found he could never recall the boy seeming to have anything severely injured.

 

“Very well then. All precautions shall be taken, including metal bounds to keep the boy in check.”, Ploetz decided. He glanced at the clock in the room, cursing under his breath when he realized he now ran the risk of being late to a meeting with a higher up. “You are dismissed, for now, 326. Expect a visit to your chambers later on.”, he said, rising again. 326 stood quickly, right arm raised.

 

“Heil Hitler, Herr Ploetz.”, he said.

 

“Heil Hitler, Herr 326.”, Ploetz said, taking a brief moment of delight in the shock displayed on 326’s face before he left. With an idea so deviously brilliant, it seemed appropriate to give the clone a little more respect than the others got. Perhaps his quarters could use an upgrade as well as his uniform… While the clones were highly expendable and typically used as frontline fodder, Ploetz could envision 326 proving of long term use to himself.

 

_That is if his plan were to succeed…_

  



	3. Questioning Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does one react when they see their entire life-their purpose-gunned down like a backalley crook? How does Pope Pius cope? And what of the cardinals? Why is it suddenly so much easier to question that which shouldn’t be questioned..?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just gave the cardinals random names lmao, this one is short because religion confuses me. Enjoy day three with Pope Pius and the cardinals!!!

 

In the aftermath of all it all, Pope Pius thought there would be peace. He thought the sight of God Himself would strike fear into the hearts of even those few cardinals that questioned him. He thought any idea of God’s existence or lack thereof would be dismissed, for they had all seen God themselves. 

 

Yet here he was, holding an emergency meeting with his cardinals. Some were inconsolable, bemoaning their loss and despair to now emptied skies. After all, what else would fill the sky without His presence? The fact that he even thought of such a question had a cold shiver run down Pius’ spine. He collapsed into a chair, suddenly feeling every minute he’d spent in a raging ocean. The only cardinal who seemed to have any resemblance of calm in the calamity was Angelo. 

 

“Are you alright, your Holiness?”, he whispered, moving closer to the pope. Pius looked up, suddenly feeling so terribly lost in the maelstrom. 

 

“God is dead, Angelo. There’s no need for my title anymore.”, he stated, giving a flat little laugh. He was surprised when Angelo reared up, a thunderous look casting deep shadows to his face. 

 

“With all due respect, your Holiness, you’ve never been more wrong in your life.”, Angelo insisted. The other cardinals were quiet now, listening intently to the two. Pius felt some measure of shock at the defiance Angelo was exhibiting now, at the sheer ignorance of the situation. 

 

“How am I wrong then, Angelo?”, Pius snapped, banging his fist on the table. “ _ You  _ saw what happened!  _ You  _ saw that… That conniving bastard Churchill shoot God and kill Him!”, he shouted. Angelo was red in the face, a certain frostiness to his eyes that left Pius feeling much too cold in the warm room. 

 

“... After all this time, you doubt our Heavenly Father’s resilience?”, Angelo asked. The air hung heavy with the question, no, the  _ accusation.  _ The other cardinals were whispering to one another, eyeing Pius with guarded eyes. He wanted to scream, to deck Angelo across the face and wipe that disgusted look off of it. “Are you a doubting Thomas now, your Holiness?”, he taunted, sneering down at the holy figure. It got under his skin more than he would ever willingly admit, seeing as he often touted that quote to questioning civilians. 

 

“How could He have survived then, Angelo?”, he quietly asked. Angelo seemed taken aback by the question, though the sneer quickly melted to something softer. 

 

“I… I simply feel it, your Holiness.”, Angelo replied, speaking quietly in the room. He was suddenly much too aware of dozens of eyes trained on him, his cheeks reddening now from embarrassment and slight shame. “I know it now as I knew it then before I ever saw Him.”, he explained. Pius let out another laugh, though this one seemed almost bittersweet. 

 

“... It is faith, your Holiness.”, Carlos added, a hesitant smile on his face. The other cardinals nodded. 

 

“Indeed, your Holiness, how could a mere human destroy God?”, Augstín asked, with a voice typically as thin and weak as old parchment suddenly ringing out clearly in the room. 

 

“Augstín is right, Pius! How can one destroy He that always was and always will be?”, Benedetto exclaimed. This set the other cardinals into a bit of an uproar, each finding a reason for God’s continued existence. It brought a true smile to Pius’ weathered face, and he allowed himself to relax in his chair again. 

 

“Right. God's not dead, but the people won’t know that. From what we saw outside…”, he trailed off, waving to the windows where they could see horrific, foreign cathedrals, then continued, “It would seem new religions have taken root.” 

 

“Then we spread His word once more, as those before us did.”, Angelo decided, speaking so confidently of himself and of the plan that even Pius felt the urge to go preaching on the streets. 

 

“Very well then. Cardinals, I place Angelo in charge of this new plan to bring God back to the people. For now, at least…”, he said, standing up. “I must rest. These old bones weren’t meant to withstand the great flood.”, he explained. It got a couple laughs from the older cardinals, helping to ease the once heavy atmosphere of the room. As Pope Pius walked away, he could hear Angelo assigning different areas of the city to groups of cardinals. 

 

He let out a heavy sigh once he got away from it all, every part of his body begging for rest. He would have just a short nap, then he would join Angelo and the others in the streets. 

 

Pius had the feeling that the coming years would have much work to be done if they wanted to even gain traction in this new world. He just hoped he’d always have someone like Angelo by his side, someone to soothe his troubled, doubting mind… 


	4. So Big

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you want Mama Hari? No? Well too bad, take her anyways! Add in reluctant Dad Jung and you’ve got this entire chapter summed up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short and sweet thing, it’ll be expanded on at a later date. It’ll be significantly more upsetting then than it is now!

__

Motherhood, it had seemed, was to never be in her cards. Burying her firstborn when he was hardly speaking had left her listless and raw for months. Burying her only other when she had suffered from the same twisted sickness as her first had… 

 

Mata still wasn’t sure how she had survived the following months. It was something she couldn’t remember well, something Jung would insist she didn’t constantly try and revisit. 

 

“You mustn’t dwell on the past, my darling.”, he would say. His hand would find hers and squeeze it, eyes warm yet distant. “Some pains never fully fade, but we can’t allow ourselves to become obsessed with treating them. Time marches on for us all, even those made up of sunlight like you.”, he would explain. The sweet words and gentle encouragement always left Mata feeling stronger, resolute to become a better woman than she was yesterday. 

 

Then one day, those words were put to the test. 

 

Mata had just wanted to walk, to take a leisurely stroll through London and enjoy the scenery. She had, too! She’d smelled the first blooming roses of spring, small bursts of vibrant color against the green leaves. The air was finally beginning to warm, though a sudden gust of wind would still send a shiver down her spine. It didn’t matter, though, because she would just pull her fur coat tighter around her body. 

 

But the little blonde boy with tears in his eyes  _ couldn’t _ . Couldn’t because he had no coat to speak of, much less one made of the finest and warmest furs to guard against the early spring chill. The poor boy barely had shoes! They were tattered and worn down, with the holes stuffed with last week’s newspaper. It would have been easy to walk right by the small boy. It seemed that way, at least, if the crowd of adults briskly walking past-sparing less than a quick glance-were anything to go by. 

 

Despite that, Mata found herself slowing as she got closer to the little corner of the park the boy inhabited. His watery eyes found hers, a certain caution to them that broke her heart. Time seemed to stand still when she finally stopped in front of him. She knelt, the bottom of her fur coat brushing against the pavement gently. She offered the strange boy a grin, one that was returned after a couple moments. 

 

“Would you like to get something to eat, Little One?”, Mata asked, speaking softly like the boy would spook and bolt off. His eyes widened slightly, eyes that were so incredibly blue and torn. “There’s a place up the street, they’ll still have breakfast, and I didn’t eat any myself. I think I’d enjoy a meal more if I had a bit of company.”, she explained. She realized she could almost see the child think, and it brought a certain bittersweet nostalgia to her. Children were terribly indecisive about most things, even when the answer seemed painfully obvious to the adults. 

 

“... Can I even have a pancake?”, the little boy finally asked. There it was! Mata’s grin only widened as she nodded, standing up straight before she offered the child a gloved hand. 

 

“You can even have  _ two  _ pancakes.”, she promised. The little boy was sold, his hand gripping her own tightly as they began to walk. Breakfast with the little boy proved to be an… Experience. She’s never seen anyone, let alone such a small child, tear into a stack of pancakes like he did. There were plenty of questions she wanted to ask him, but… Well, talking with a mouth full of syrupy pancakes probably wasn’t very plausible, now was it?

 

“Slow down, Little One. You’ll hurt your tummy if you eat everything so fast.”, Mata said, tone gently scolding in the way only a parent’s could be. The little boy looked up at her sheepishly, the ghost of a grin on his face. “There we go, that’s better. I don’t want you to get sick.”, she said. There was syrup all over his face, which really was quite dirty to begin with. Actual dirt coated his face, the only parts that were somewhat clean being the deep chasms left behind whenever he cried. 

 

“Miss, may I have more water?”, the little boy asked. Mata nodded, signaling for the waiter that had been hovering nearby the entire time. He kept eyeing her and the boy, something… Something unpleasant in his eyes. Disgust, she decided. An unmarried woman with a small, dirty child? The idea alone must have been so scandalous to the waiter that he felt the overwhelming need to stare at them. Whatever his issue might have been, it didn’t really matter. 

 

Mata had never been one to care much for what others thought of her. 

 

“What might your name be, Little One?”, she asked, smiling in an attempt to ignore the hateful eyes of the waiter as he slunk back to his little corner. 

 

“Philipp!”, the little boy said. Philipp, a rather lovely name. Mata nodded, taking a sip of her orange juice as Philipp mirrored her actions. It was one of those kid things she had missed. That subconscious desire to emulate those older folks around them, to do what they could to be as grown-up as possible. Something told her Philipp had been enough of a grown-up to last him a lifetime. 

 

“Very well, Philipp. I believe we’ve both had our fill, haven’t we?”, she asked, gesturing to their empty plates. Philipp nodded hesitantly, a sudden unease in his eyes. “Good! Then I believe we should head home. You look a bit of a mess right now, darling, and I think a nice bubble bath would do you wonders.”, she explained. She stood, sticking a few bills under her empty cup as she did. 

 

Philipp’s eyes had gone wide again. Wide and full of tears, oh goodness this poor boy did a lot of this, didn’t he? He got up from his chair and rushed over to Mata, hiding his face against her coat as he sobbed. She should’ve felt angry, right? This coat was worth a small fortune, and now it was being used as… As a makeshift handkerchief by a dirty, syrupy faced child! Yet she found that she felt no anger, instead a great, mournful sadness that threatened to bring tears to her own eyes. 

 

“Oh come now, lieverd, let’s not cry.”, she whispered, leaning once more so she could scoop the little one up. That only seemed to spur him on, though, because now his face was pressed into her neck as he cried. Mata just held him and began walking, occasionally murmuring some sweet nonsense to the upset child as she began the journey home. Her home was empty and silent, as it usually was. Jung tended to his patients far into the night, so it would be hours until he came home.

 

“Come now, let's get you cleaned up Philipp.”, Mata said, carrying the thin child to her bathroom. “What bubble bath would you like? I’ve got lavender, citrus, eucalyptus, whichever you’d like most!”, she asked. Philipp just sniffled against her, clinging to her tightly as he looked around the large room. It was a sprawling masterpiece of marble, with a lovely mural of a park right above the bath. Mata carefully set the boy down on the floor and began running the bath water, testing it to make sure it wouldn’t be too hot for him. 

 

“Well, lavender is very soothing. I think that’s a good place to start.”, she decided after a long silence from Philipp. She added a splash of the fragrant mixture under the water, grinning as the bubbles began to form. Philipp hurried over, eyes wide and full of curiosity as the bath was quickly filled with mounds of foamy bubbles. “Alright, I’m going to get you some towels and something a bit… More fresh, okay? Call me if you need anything.”, Mata explained. Philipp nodded and she left, pulling the door shut behind her. 

 

She busied herself for the next half hour, gathering up towels and searching through her closets for something the little one could wear. She finally resorted to “borrowing” one of Jung’s old, ill fitting shirts along with a pair of shorts. With a quick bit of hemming, the makeshift outfit seemed more suited to a child than the man who owned it. Mata made a mental note to compensate Jung later, the clothes may not have fit him anymore but they were still his. 

 

“Miss?”, Philipp called, voice echoing quite loudly in the confines of the bathroom. She walked back to the room, sliding the door open just enough to pass the towels and clothes through to Philipp. She… Was going to have to do a lot of shopping. Thank goodness tomorrow was Saturday, Jung’s clinic closed every weekend and she would need an extra pair of hands to help wrangle Philipp while they shopped. 

 

“Oh!”, she exclaimed, a rather giddy grin on her face when Philipp finally walked out of the bathroom. With his face clean and hair nicely combed, he looked so much more… More like a child! And the sweater, even though she’d made it smaller, it was still a big too big in the sleeves. “Well aren’t you just adorable, Philipp!”, she said, picking the little one up and settling him on her hip. He was light, surprisingly so, and she couldn’t help but wonder… “How old are you, lieverd?”, she asked. 

 

“Oh, I’m seven!”, Philipp replied, looking almost proud of himself. Mata couldn’t help but laugh as she smoothed down a flyaway lock of blonde hair, a gentle mirth in her eyes. 

 

“Such a big boy you are!”, she teased, carrying him back to the living room. She was already planning what the two could do until Jung got home, her mind filled with lovely things like storybook reading and having him help with lunch. Then the door to the house opened and slammed shut. Mata could feel her eyes widen as Jung stomped in, a scowl on his face and a certain brightness to his eyes that she had long ago learned to worry over. 

 

“You won’t  _ believe  _ the day I’ve had, darling-”, Jung began, running a hand through his hair before he froze. Mata was… Holding a child. A small boy with golden blonde hair that was in no possible way related to her. “... Mata, please tell me you didn’t kidnap a child.”, he said, voice low and tight. 

 

“... I don’t… I’m pretty sure I didn’t, Jung.”, Mata said, giving a little shrug of her shoulders as unease washed over her. She had assumed Philipp was an orphan, considering his pitiful condition, but…

 

“You  _ think  _ you didn’t commit a crime?”, Jung asked, taking to pacing the floor. “Oh Christ, Mata if you kidnapped some poor child you’re in  _ deep!” _ , he ranted. 

 

“Kidnappers are bad! Ms. Mata isn’t bad!”, Philipp suddenly said. He was wearing a little scowl that tried to be intimidating, but really only made Mata’s heart melt. He was like an angry puppy!

 

“Of course, Ms. Mata is a lovely woman, but if she took you from your parents without their knowledge or consent, then she kidnapped you.”, Jung explained, heaving an exasperated little sigh. Why was he having to explain kidnapping to a child?  _ Why  _ was this happening at all?

 

“... My parents don’t want me anyway, so it’s okay if Ms. Mata kidnapped me. Right, Mr. Jung?”, Philipp asked, scrubbing at his eyes as they started watering again. “If Ms. Mata wants me, then she can have me.  _ I  _ want her, too.”, he decided. 

 

“God dammit.”, Jung whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. Mata perked up at that, a hesitant grin back on her face. “Fine. Fine! We’ll keep the little one here, just…”, he began, trailing off as he looked at the boy properly. “... Is that my sweater?”, he asked, a note of incredulity in his voice.

 

“Well, you always said this one rode up in the back, and that the sleeves were too short now, and-”, Mata explained, surprised when Jung started laughing. 

 

“You did  _ awful _ at shortening it!”, Jung cried, burying his face in his hands as he shook from the force of his laughter. “Oh, my poor boy. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get  _ proper  _ clothes soon.”, he said, once he had finally gotten himself back under control. There was still a smirk on his face, though, one that Mata found to be incredibly infuriating. 

 

“I get to stay  _ and  _ get new clothes?”, Philipp asked, squirming around in Mata’s arms until she put him down. Jung cursed inwardly because  _ dammit  _ those big baby blues were turned on him now! Suddenly, he understood why Mata had felt the need to swoop the child up and off the streets. 

 

“Yes, of course you do, kleiner. New clothes and a spot in Mata’s bed.”, Jung said. “We’ll have to order in your own later on, but I know Mata won’t mind! Right,  _ darling? _ ”, he asked, his damned infuriating smirk only getting smugger as he looked to her. 

 

“Of  _ course  _ I wouldn’t mind! I’m sure Philipp won’t mind either, will you lieverd?”, she cooed, kneeling back down to ruffle Philipp’s hair and kiss his forehead. 

 

“Do you have any stuffed bears?”, Philipp asked, an excited shine to his eyes. “Because I really like stuffed bears! And balloons too! Especially red ones.”, he rambled, leaving the two rooted in their spot as he proceeded to list every single thing in the world he did and didn’t like. 

 

God, Mata had forgotten just how  _ interesting  _ parenting was...


	5. Of Sacrifice and Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He isn’t aware, couldn’t be aware, but Oppenheimer has a much larger role in the Manhattan Project than he could ever dream to fulfill...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this originally was way longer and my brain went “lol nope”. I’m still proud of it and happy with it though!!

 

It first happened late into the night, after hours at one of the research facilities Oppenheimer and the others toiled in. He had excused himself for just a moment. His eyes were dry and burning, likely the after effect of going so many hours without sleep. He took little comfort in the fact that they were all sleep deprived, at least. He flipped on the light switch as he entered the bathroom, a started gasp passing his lips when he looked into the mirror.

 

Instead of his own tired face, one that was startlingly blue stared back. One that had wicked yellow eyes and too many arms, god _why_ did it have so many arms?!? Oppenheimer was frozen in place, mouth open in a silent scream as the creature in the mirror stared back. In such a hazy state, it was easy to think it was his own face.

 

_And then the creature smiled, showing off razor sharp teeth that were meant to rend flesh from bone._

 

Oppenheimer's scream rang out in the otherwise silent facility, drawing the attention of Marie Curie and Albert Einstein. The two friends shared a look of panic before they ran off after the sound. They found Oppenheimer in the corner of the bathroom, shattered glass and blood pouring from the cuts on his arm. Marie let out a sound of worry as she rushed over, peeling back fabric that was soaked in blood from the wound.

 

“Oh _Robert_ , what have you done?”, she whispered, standing for just a moment to get the emergency first aid kit from a cabinet. Then she was back on the ground with Robert, tears slowly slipping down her cheeks as she bandaged his arm up.

 

“I… The mirror, Marie. There was… _Something_.”, Oppenheimer whispered, a dazed sort of horror settling over him as the steady flow of blood down his arm was stemmed. Albert carefully picked his way over the jagged shards of glass, examining what little remained of the mirror with a curious look in his eyes.

 

“... Oppenheimer, nothing is in the mirror. Nothing but my face, _your_ face.”, Albert finally said. He took a step back, the crunch of glass painfully loud in the otherwise silent room. “Why did you break the mirror, Oppenheimer?”, he asked, speaking gently to the shell shocked man.

 

“I-I didn’t! There was a face-not my face-it was _awful-”,_ Oppenheimer began, wincing as Albert cut him off.

 

“Don’t speak such nonsense!”, he snapped. The silence now fell heavy on the others, tension building as it went on. Albert wasn’t someone who got angry. He wasn’t someone who got impatient or snapped at others, even when they deserved to be snapped at. His sudden change in behavior was unsettling, to say the least. But he was unsettled. This was strange, even for the Super Science Friends! Oppenheimer claimed to have nothing to do with the mirror breaking but it was _so_ clear that he’d been the one to do so! There was no other logical explanation that made sense.

 

“Robert, we need to get you somewhere else. I’ve stopped the bleeding for now, but…”, Marie trailed off, helping the man stand up once more.

 

“Marie is right.”, Albert decided, taking the reins in the situation as he ushered the others out of the bathroom. “I’ll have someone else order a new mirror and have the bathroom cleaned. We’ll use the other one, for now.”, he explained. He followed after Marie and Oppenheimer as they headed to the makeshift infirmary she’d set up at the very beginning of it all. “Once Oppenheimer is dealt with, I expect the two of you to rest. Clearly, today’s work has been too… Distressing.”, Albert said. Distressing enough for one of the more promising scientists to have an apparent mental break…

 

It was that damned tone of voice that left no room for complaint or argument. That “I’m the leader, do as I say” tone that Oppenheimer had slowly grown to hate over the months.

 

_You should be the one in charge._

 

The thought came unbidden, a dark and echoey voice from deep within whispering it to the dazed man. It was an idea he’d toyed around with before, admittedly, but it had never sounded so… Sinister. Sinister, yet _sure_. When Oppenheimer blinked he could see that horrible face again, all gleaming teeth and blinding eyes that made him stumble. Marie just barely caught him, her green eyes so wide with worry and concern that it made him forget about the monstrous face.

 

_For now, at least_.

 

Something dark and incomprehensible had been planted within the depths of his mind that night. Something that would take weeks and months of growth to truly develop into anything resembling an actual plan. That was fine, of course. Shiva had planted the seed. That need for the ultimate destruction, that which would finally end this cursed battle between men… It would be fulfilled soon enough by Oppenheimer.

 

_Whether he wanted to or not._

 

This was something far bigger than Oppenheimer, than any of the scientists. This was millions of lives and years of unnecessary war in the balance, something Shiva had to keep in check. Einstein was a good man, _too_ good a man, and for that he had to die. If he was allowed to remain on the Manhattan Project… His personal views would become too much to ignore in the face of what the atomic bomb could bring about.

 

_Einstein had to die so that the war could come to horrific end._

 

Oppenheimer didn’t know, couldn’t know, but he would be more important than he could ever imagine in the grand scheme of it all. And so he would be Shiva’s pawn, thoughts and actions easily manipulated when left in the hands of a god.

 

_The sacrifice was necessary for balance to once more be achieved._

  



	6. Satisfied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edison had done everything he could to destroy Tesla. Everything and then some, really. He simply wouldn’t be satisfied until the man knew just where he belonged in Edison’s world...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh hi this got weird and dark at the end. Like, borderline Stockholm syndrome kinda dark/weird. I hope y’all enjoy.,, whatever I’ve created. Here’s to day six of SSJ (and my attempt at beginning an overarching plot)!

__

 

Edison was just swinging blindly now, eyes wide and wild with a hatred that gave Tesla pause as he hovered above him. The battle was over-had been over for some while-but he refused to give up. Even when the rest of the team had stopped helping, and merely stood on the sidelines. Even when Tesla himself had stopped throwing punches, had just started flying to dodge them now. 

 

“Just... Hold still, you  _ bastard! _ ”, Edison snarled, ignoring the blood that poured from his likely broken nose. That didn’t matter, none of it mattered, none of it but  _ hurting  _ Tesla. Getting  _ even _ , because how dare he fly above him and act like he was so much better?  _ He  _ was the destitute idiot, destined to die alone and with  _ nothing  _ to his name besides a handful of patents that had  _ never  _ taken off.

 

“Give it up, Edison! I’ve won, you’ve lost!”, Tesla called, yanking his legs up and out of reach of Edison’s grasp. This situation was just so damned ridiculous! It seemed like every time they fought now, Edison would insist on pushing well beyond his limits in an attempt to win. “Just give it up you stubborn bastard!”, he yelled. 

 

“ _ I’m  _ the stubborn bastard?!?”, Edison asked, incredulous at the accusation. “You came to America with nothing to your name, you left with even less, and  _ god dammit  _ Tesla I’ll make sure you  _ die  _ a penniless nobody! You still try to market your  _ useless  _ inventions, even when you know that  _ nobody  _ wants or needs them! Don’t you  _ dare  _ call me stubborn!”, he ranted. Edison was breathing heavily, arms shaking because of course that foreign prick would still think he was in the wrong here.

 

_ “I’ll  _ be the one in the history books,  _ I’ll  _ be the one remembered as the Wizard of Menlo Park, and  _ you’ll  _ be the one forgotten to the ages!”, Edison spat. The words were harsh, harsh and  _ dripping  _ with a venom so potent that Tesla actually came back to the ground. Edison sneered as he lunged at the thin man, his fist just inches from his face before he was grabbed by someone. 

 

“Edison, that’s _ enough _ .”, Albert snapped. God, it was that super-strength brat! Edison struggled against his grip, his carefully styled hair now matted to his forehead with sweat and blood.  _ God dammit none of this was fair! _

 

“Albert is right. You’ve lost, now pack it up and go home.”, Marie said, crossing her arms as she stared at the three. The others nodded, slowly picking their way across the battlefield towards Tesla and Albert.

 

“If you think I’m going to listen to some _ coily-haired bastard of science- _ ”, Edison began, a sudden pain in his stomach knocking the breath from him. He doubled over and wheezed, for a moment wondering if he’d ruptured something because that had  _ hurt.  _ And of course it hurt, because Tesla had always had one hell of a rip. He still managed to sneer up at the man despite the fact that he was seeing stars now. 

 

“You leave Albert out of this, Edison.”, Tesla said, speaking so calmly and so lowly that it made the others feel uneasy. “You’ve spent the last few years ruining my life, why change it up now?”,he asked, something strange in his eyes. Something Edison couldn’t name-didn’t want to name-that sent shivers down his spine.

 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

 

“Leave it to the outcast among outcasts to get a soft spot for some _filthy_ _freak_ -”, Edison taunted, falling to the ground from the force of the backhand Tesla had given him. Albert had let go of his arms, even taken a couple steps back because Tesla _never_ got this angry over anything. 

 

“ _ I said to leave Albert out of it!” _ , Tesla snarled. That something in his eyes was fiery and intense, something that only served to egg Edison on. 

 

“I knew it! You couldn’t get anyone else to care for you, not even yourself, so you got some halfwit, filthy bastard that nobody else wanted to do it for you!”, Edison exclaimed. The last thing he saw before the world went black was that horrific fire burning in Nikola’s eyes…

  
  


When Edison came back to a conscious state, he did so slowly. His head was pounding, aching something awful as he groaned and stirred. He tried to sit up but the sudden movement only served to make him nauseous. He opened his eyes against startlingly bright lights, hissing in pain as he tried to shield himself from it all.  _ Tried.  _ His arms refused to move properly, being tied to the railing of the bed he was on. 

 

“What… The devil?”, Edison whispered, squinting against the harsh lights as he tried to sit up. He eventually managed to pull himself into a more reclined position, though the strain of even that had his heart beating so hard that he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. What exactly had happened..? 

 

“-we should’ve just dropped him off at Ford’s! Let his own friends take care of him!”, Tesla insisted. Edison’s eyes narrowed and he strained to listen in on the conversation. Something told him it might explain what the hell had gone on since the fight. 

 

“Tesla, you punched him in the head so hard that he passed out! He has to be properly monitored to make sure there isn’t any long lasting damage.”, Marie insisted, speaking much more quietly than the other superhero. 

 

“Then why didn’t you drop him off at Edison’s Medicines? Or let Ford take him to a hospital? Why did he have to be brought  _ here _ ?”, Tesla asked, voice breaking off at the end. Here...? Ah! Edison looked around the small, makeshift infirmary with wide eyes. Here could only be the Clock Tower,  right? Why else would it have his little Nikola so bothered?

 

“Nikola, I know how you feel about the man, but-”

 

“But nothing, Curie! He’s done everything in his power and then some to ruin me! He will never be satisfied until I  _ am  _ alone and destitute!”, Tesla snapped, interrupting Marie. All Edison could hear were muffled, gentle murmurs as he struggled against his bonds. Even in a potentially concussive state they’d felt the need to keep him under wraps... 

 

“... I’m not staying here, Marie.”, Tesla stated. Edison perked up, a twisted sort of glee filling him. “I  _ can’t  _ stay here. Not after everything he’s done to me.”, he said. 

 

“And where will you go?”, Marie asked brusquely. It was a question that had Edison leaning forward, a question that even he wanted the answer to. 

 

“I’ll... I’ll stay with a friend.”, was Nikola’s hesitant reply.  _ A friend?  _ Since when did his little Nikola make friends at all? Much less friends who would let him stay the night? “Albert and I both, I can’t let him stay here when Edison is saying such… Such  _ vile  _ things about him.”, he added. 

 

“Where, Tesla? Where is this  _ friend?  _ It’s one thing for you to go off to somewhere strange in the night, but Albert is a  _ child _ .”, Marie asked. 

 

“Jung’s. We had to go in the morning anyways, it’s still light enough that we can make it before he’s in bed.”, Tesla said, speaking quickly as he began pacing. Jung? Wasn’t that the fellow Freud was always getting into it with? Rather odd person to befriend, all things considered… 

 

“And you believe Jung will let you and Albert both intrude on his private space?”, Marie asked. 

 

“Why wouldn’t he? If I’m expected of my  _ friends  _ to let my nemesis invade my home-my only space where I’m at peace-then why would Jung refuse us?”, was the terse response Nikola gave. Edison scowled as their voices faded away, the sound of their footsteps echoing until they were gone. So that was it, eh? Little Nikola had convinced some poor psychiatrist to pity him and the boy enough that he’d deluded himself into believing they were friends? 

 

It was a concept that Edison found to be laughable. Nikola was nothing without him! Even now, though as much as he believed he had moved on, he was still subject to  _ his  _ actions! Edison was the one who had taken any notice of Nikola to begin with! If it hadn’t been for him, all those years ago, then Nikola never would have gotten as far as he did! 

 

_ And yet… _

 

The fact that Nikola  _ was  _ moving on,  _ was  _ allowing himself to form relationships with others… It dug deep underneath Edison’s skin. Nikola was  _ his.  _ He may not have ever been his in the way he’d wanted, years ago when the two worked together and shared so much of their time and space together… But he was his in a way that  _ nobody  _ would ever be. In some sick sort of way, Edison  _ owned  _ him. 

 

Maybe not the man himself, or his heart, or even his body, but his  _ mind _ . Edison still laid claim to that fragile, broken thing and  _ relished  _ in just how much control he had over it. Nikola, for once, had been utterly and completely right. 

 

**Edison would never be satisfied until Nikola understood his place in the world he had created.**

 

**He would never be satisfied until Nikola realized just how beneath Edison he was.**

 

**He would never be satisfied until Nikola realized just how little he mattered to everyone outside of himself.**

 

After all, who would  _ ever  _ want such a broken man as Nikola besides the man who’d broken him? 

 


	7. Two Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jung is bitter, but with good reason. He’s never going to let go of that damned wire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious Talk: TW for suicidal thoughts/ideations. I described Jung having a mental breakdown in a fair amount of detail, so please avoid this chapter if that sort of thing triggers you or otherwise causes you discomfort.
> 
> You are loved. You are appreciated. You are wanted. Having thoughts like the ones in this chapter isn’t normal BUT you shouldn’t feel ashamed to seek help. Stay away from that balcony, okay?

 

 

It hurt sometimes. Late in the night when all was still and quiet, when he lied in bed, unmoving. It crept in like a deadly virus, undetected until it was too late. The pain would strike him so quickly and so harshly that it would steal his breath away. Jung would curl up into a tight ball and shake, eyes clenched shut against the flood of tears. The bitter smell of cigar smoke haunted him in those moments of weakness, when he lingered somewhere between the past and the present…

  
  


_ Jung hadn’t expected to get along with Freud as well as he did, that day when they first met. He felt almost embarrassed at how quickly he felt comfortable with the older man, talking at length about their theories regarding psychological development. There was something almost hypnotic in the way Freud spoke, pausing now and then to take a long drag off his cigar before continuing. He found himself listening more than talking, leaning in just to hear Freud better. _

 

_ At least, that had been what he told himself. _

 

Jung opened his eyes and stared out the glass door to his balcony, that sudden longing for cool night air against his skin too much to ignore. He untangled himself from his sheets and stood, swaying slightly on his feet before he managed to steady himself. He moved slowly, a dreamy sort of look to his face as he stepped out onto the balcony. Ah, blessedly cool air…

 

It soothed the heat that always rose to his skin on these nights, nights when sleep escaped him and everything felt like too much. The ghost of a smile crossed his face as he closed his eyes once more, letting the wind whisper by. A low roll of thunder sounded in the distance, followed by a sharp crack of lightning. Good. Jung loved storms, loved being caught up in the calamity of it all. Loved being in the middle of it all, watching the chaos from the one spot where nothing couldn’t be hurt. Where  _ he  _ couldn’t be hurt. Where he could…

 

_ Watch as Freud ran, trying so hard to keep covered with the newspaper he’d bought that morning. Jung couldn’t help but laugh as he ushered the older man under the little terrace he’d found after the storm broke. They were both soaked, cold to their very bones and left with glasses that were all but useless now. The shelter was small, small enough that they stood hip to hip in order to stay safe from the rain.  _

 

_ Jung found he didn’t mind the closeness. It might’ve brought color to his face, those matching blotches of red that seemed to burn against the cold weather, but that was fine. Freud was close to him, and Freud was speaking to him, and nothing else mattered because it was Freud.  _

 

_ And maybe he should stop lying to himself about how he felt about Freud. _

 

At some point during his reimaginings, Jung had begun to move again. He found himself leaning against the railing now, staring out at the thunderclouds that rolled in. The wind was howling now, no longer a sweet whisper. It pulled at his nightclothes, beckoning to him like the open arms of a lover might. How many nights had this happened? How many times…

 

_ Would a meeting end like this? Jung was red in the face and indignant, body stiff as he stood up. Freud just looked back at him calmly, a damned smirk on his face as if he was still the one in the right here! He walked away, chose to walk away, because he was frustrated and nothing good ever came from speaking when feeling such clashing emotions.  _

 

_ Walk it out, cool off, and come back later. _

 

_ Only he didn’t entirely want to come back to the conversation. He didn’t want to constantly be on the defense about his own theories. It just didn’t seem fair to Jung that Freud allowed for no deviation from his own ideas! To ignore something as important as the spiritual aspect of the psyche just seemed… Seemed so closed minded! There was an entire world that Freud was willfully ignorant to, a world that Jung so desperately wished he could make the older man understand.  _

 

_ But it didn’t seem to matter how hard he tried to explain himself-his ideas-because it was never good enough for Freud. He wasn’t good enough for Freud. _

 

Nothing had been good enough for Freud. Even now, the bastard insisted he was still right. That Jung’s ideas were not only foolish in their founding but unscientific to boot. The tears came again, bitter as the rain began to fall. Fall just like they had that day when…

 

_ “I’m not doing this anymore, Jung.”, Freud said. He stood up from his chair, draped his jacket over his arm, and laid down a couple notes for his portion of the bill. “You were right. We shouldn’t always be fighting.”, he continued. He looked down at Jung, face impassive even as he shattered his world. “And since it would seem we cannot be around one another without fighting, then we shouldn’t be around one another at all.”, he decided.  _

 

_ That was all it had taken. Four simple sentences, only thirty-six words, and it crushed something deep within Jung. Freud made the choice for the both of them to end it, to cut ties with him and leave him listless in an ocean that threatened to pull him under at any given moment. To have everything ripped away so quickly, and with so little warning, it did something to him. Something that left Jung isolated from everyone, even those he could once call his colleagues, in the darkened building that he called home.Even when it didn’t feel like home and felt more like a personal hell, when haunting voices seemed to spill from every corner of every room like a hellacious cacophony of madness.  _

 

Jung was having one of his moments. One of his moments where the line between reality and fantasy became a thin blur. His hands gripped the railing tight enough that his knuckles were white, his footing unsteady as he stepped up. It wasn’t much, only put him a couple inches off of proper ground, but the simple realization that he was no longer on the balcony made everything feel so… Light. 

 

How many times would he do this? Stand somewhere he shouldn’t, just a little too close to the edge for the comfort of most, and think about…

 

_ Free falling through nothingness, spinning endlessly through a void that left him numb to every conceivable emotion. Being so alone, so  _ **_fucking_ ** _ alone with his thoughts. They were loud and angry, thoughts that should have scared him. Thoughts that would have worried him if a patient admitted to having them. Now it was his own mind whispering these terrible things to him late in the night, when all was still and he was vulnerable to their bleak rationale.  _

 

_ Jung had found himself on the balcony more times than he would ever admit. On nights when the wind blew so harshly that it didn’t whisper sweet nothings like some romantic lover, it  _ **_howled_ ** _ in his ears like a wild animal. It didn’t just tug at his clothes gently, it  _ **_yanked_ ** _ like it wanted to devour him. Like the very night itself wished nothing more than to take hold of him and leave behind no trace of his existence.  _

 

_ Nights when Jung would climb up the railing and sway, like he was listening to some somber melody that nobody else could hear but him. Something haunting and bittersweet, bringing tears to his eyes every time and leaving him aching somewhere deep in his soul.  _

 

Nights like this one. The storm had rolled in, thunder crashing loudly and lightning lighting up everything for nothing more than a split-second at a time. Jung was just outside the eye of the storm, he knew it. Everything was harsh and intense, the rain stinging like bullets thrown down by some pissed off god. He reached out hesitantly, leaning forward like it would help him grasp whatever it was he wanted so desperately. Some tantalizing green light shining at the end of a dock he could never reach. 

 

And then all thoughts of green were gone when all Jung would see were eyes so blue that he thought he might drown in their depths. He flailed a moment, stumbling back onto solid ground and  _ just  _ catching himself in time. 

 

“Nikola, what the fuck-”, he began, his confusion only worsening when Albert hauled himself over the railing. His mind took over, his body moving without thought as he ushered the two inside. They were soaked, soaked and looking every bit as confused as Jung did. He had so many questions to ask them but none of them were able to untangle from the mess his mind was in and make their way to is tongue.

 

So Jung settled for bringing the two towels and warm drinks, a hot chocolate for Albert and warm milk for Nikola. He fussed with Albert’s hair as he helped him dry off, set their damp clothes in the dolly tub to be handled on Monday, and found a couple of outfits he could spare them. Nikola had a rather similar build to his own, so there was no real issue in lending him a nightshirt and some shorts. Albert however, was  _ much  _ smaller than both of them, and even his most ill fitting of shirts made the poor boy look like he’d gotten into his father’s clothes. It was… Funny. Funny and oddly sweet, in a way that Jung wasn’t accustomed to feeling. Even if the sleeves hung far below his wrists, Albert seemed content with just having something warm and dry to wear. 

 

“Thank you, Mr. Jung.”, Albert said, taking another sip of his hot chocolate. He was peering around the room curiously, legs swinging idly in the not-shorts he was wearing. And again Jung couldn’t help but think of a young boy who’d gotten into his father’s clothes, a boy playing dress up and pretending to be older than he really was. Albert didn’t need ill fitting clothes to do that, though. He just needed to exist in the world he existed in. 

 

“Albert, how would you like to look through my library?”, Jung offered, speaking softly as the fire crackled. “I’m sure I’ve got a book or four you’d enjoy.”, he added, giving the child a little smile. Albert perked up at the offer and nodded, hopping off the chair he’d made himself comfortable on in favor of the library. Jung waited until he’d padded down the hall, the loud clang of the library door opening and closing his signal to turn back to Nikola.

 

“Explain.”, he stated. Nikola suddenly seemed much more preoccupied with his milk then, opting to stare into the cup rather than at Jung. “... Nikola,  _ please  _ don’t do this tonight.”, Jung said, moving to the now empty chair beside the quiet man. “I need to know why you decided to travel in the middle of a thunderstorm with a child-with  _ your _ child-just to see me.”, he begged, feeling almost guilty for pulling the child card on Nikola. 

 

“... Edison. It’s Edison.”, Nikola eventually whispered. Of course it was Edison, when was it  _ not  _ that bastard? “He…”, Nikola began, trailing off as he looked around the room. His hands began to shake and Jung found himself carefully taking away his cup so he wouldn’t risk burning himself should it spill. Instead, he pressed their palms together. It was a gesture that Nikola had once admitted to find comforting, something in the contact and pressure that helped get rid of the shakiness. 

 

“He what?”, Jung asked, speaking in that gentle way reserved only for his patients. For Nikola and Albert. 

 

“He said such  _ awful _ things about Albert, Jung. I-I couldn’t control myself and I ended up hurting him.”, Nikola confessed. The guilt in his voice was so heavy that even Jung felt it settle on his shoulders. “And now he’s back at the Clock Tower, and I couldn’t let Albert stay there when he’d been so  _ nasty  _ to him and-”, his voice was getting high, panicked because oh god had he really thought this through enough?

 

“Nikola.”, Jung interrupted, finding that delicate balance between gentleness and firmness as he intertwined their fingers. “Breathe. You’re forgetting to breathe.”, he said, hesitating as a new idea came to him. He took one of Nikola’s hands and pressed it over his chest, over his own slowly beating heart. “Breathe in time with me and try to match my rhythm.”, he said, closing his eyes as he began to count. Inhaling for four seconds, holding it for seven, and exhaling for eight… 

 

It was only disrupted when Nikola grabbed his own hand and pressed it to his own chest, letting Jung feel his calming heart against his palm. For just a moment his heart stopped, then beat too fast as if to make up for lost time. It quickly settled back into its rhythm, though, and for that Jung was thankful. 

 

“... Can we stay the night, Jung?”, Nikola asked, speaking softly in the silent room. It was a question Jung had expected at that point, anticipated even, and he found himself smiling. 

 

“Of course, Nikola. You and Albert both will always be welcome in my home.”, Jung said, finally opening his eyes once more.  _ Oh _ that had been a mistake. Seeing Nikola’s eyes so closely, those blue eyes that had threatened to swallow him up before… Jung pulled away, pulled away because he knew how this went. His heart was beating fast again and he refused to let Nikola in on the fact that anyone could have such a drastic effect on him without even doing anything. 

 

“I’ll ready the guest room.”, he said, busying himself once more as he waited for that burning in his face to fade away.  Nikola sat in his chair a moment, blinking in confusion because… 

 

_ Because Jung didn’t even need to know the reason why he wanted to stay, he just let them stay without prying.  _

 

Nikola set off to find Albert in the library, mind buzzing with thoughts that made his stomach feel odd and fluttery. He’d told Marie that Jung would let them stay, so why was he surprised when he’d turned out to be right? It didn’t take long for those thoughts to be dismissed, though, because convincing Albert to leave the sprawling library for the night was difficult. Eventually, though, he’d managed to get the kid out of the library and down to their room for the night. 

 

“Get some rest, both of you.”, Jung said, slipping past the two and out the door. “Breakfast will be at eight o’clock sharp. Don’t expect me to leave you anything if you’re late.”, he called, only half teasing before he shut the door. There was still that damned smile to his face, that flush refusing to fully fade away as he made his way back to his own bedroom. He crawled under the covers once more, turned off the bedside lamp, and made himself a mass of bedsheets. 

  
  


For reasons Jung didn’t fully understand, a deep, dreamless sleep came easy to him that night… 

  
  



	8. Pit of Vipers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I delve into the reasoning each judge for Snake Pit has for being on the show, and look into Tesla’s reasoning as well. Sorta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy SSJ day 8!!! This one is just light hearted and a bit more comical, nothing like the last chapter. I wrote this one mostly for fun, because I needed a pick me up.

__

Another day, another attempt at finding the next big thing to hit the markets. Well, more accurately, finding the next big thing to steal and have hit the markets under his own name. Westinghouse was one who prided himself greatly in his… Resourcefulness. It was exceedingly easy to convince some schmuck that his idea was absolute rubbish, only to sweep in and copy the design. Of course, he added his own flair to it! Made a few minor modifications, shined it up a bit before he slapped his name on it. 

 

Perhaps his best example of “outsourcing” the more creative aspect of labor would be the case of the alternating current induction motor. Now  _ that  _ was a brilliant piece of work! Westinghouse really did owe Tesla a drink sometime, the man was a shoddy businessman but a damn fine inventor! Of course, not that he or the rest of the crew would allow him to think that. Heavens no! It was so much easier to keep him downtrodden, made him a better candidate for that “outsourcing” he loved so much…

  
  
  


Morgan still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d been convinced to be a part of this… This  _ show.  _ He got no particular thrill out of seeing bright-eyed, hopeful young men leave the room in tears. He had no real ill will towards them, either. At the end of the day, he supposed he was there to make more money. Not in the way Edison and Westinghouse made money, no. They had their little fortunes and were certainly comfortable in their lives, but they simply couldn’t measure up to someone like him. Especially not when it  _ had  _ been Morgan who had merged Edison General Electric and Thomas-Houston Electric Company in order to form General Electric. 

 

No, Edison and Westinghouse both could only dream to have quite the wealth or reach that Morgan had. It wasn’t as if either could really boast to having the political sway that he had, now could they? Nor did they have quite the reputation that he had, what with his involvement in the Progressive Era! Indeed, it was very easy most days to simply sit in his chair and nod along while poor sods plead their case for whatever inanity they’d dreamed up that particular morning… 

  
  
  


Edison enjoyed Snake Pit a little bit more than he should’ve, really. While the money there was to make was a nice enough incentive to have him on in the beginning, it was seeing his  _ darling  _ little Nikola that really kept him on the show. Watching the way he would present something, how his lovely blue eyes would light up as he explained the complexities of his beloved alternating currents, and just the sheer energy he seemed to exude when speaking to them all...

 

Only to have it all die and wither away when Edison would deny him the funds to produce whatever idiotic thing he’d come up with for the week! Oh, it was one of those simply  _ exquisite  _ joys that his life offered. It was a special sort of power that he relished in having. Maybe he couldn’t fly or manipulate the very energies around him in the ways Nikola could, but having the power to make or break his dreams? Well, that made most everything else he was denied almost seem to be worth it.

  
  
  


Ford, plain and simple, was the yes man. He was part of Snake Pit because Edison liked having a bit of company whenever he’d taunt his “darling” Nikola. It was easy to just nod and agree with him when he’d go in on the man, though he had to admit it did get on his nerves when Edison would flat out refuse funding on his own behalf. Ford knew he would say no anyways, but still…

 

It was a matter of principle, dammit! Ford didn’t like the way Morgan looked at the two of them, with some sort of condescending smirk on his face that made his fists itch. He supposed he showed up just to get that chance to make his decision, even if it always aligned with Edison’s. He was content with just being able to voice his opinion on the matter, really. 

  
  
  


Ah, and what of Edison’s darling Nikola? Why did he still show up? Truth be told, he wondered that as well. He hesitated outside the door, the little trolley with his latest and greatest suddenly seeming much heavier than it should’ve been. Did he really want to go into that room, knowing what would happen? Westinghouse wouldn’t fund him, they were in direct competition with each other! Edison wouldn’t fund him for similar reasons, though Nikola would have been lying to himself if he acted as if there wasn’t something deeper there. Ford… Was Ford. He blindly followed whatever orders Edison gave him. 

 

And Morgan… Something about the man was different. He still didn’t fund his inventions, of course, but there was a certain boredom to his eyes that made him feel uneasy. Like this entire show was somehow beneath him, or unimportant to him. It dug under Nikola’s skin in the worst way, made him lose sleep he didn’t really have to begin with, because how could someone’s very livelihood being at stake make someone bored?

 

It was that final thought that made him stop outside the room. Nikola nibbled at his bottom lip for a moment, eying the door before he slipped that letter out of his pocket. It was a request for him to appear in London, along with a ticket for passage on a rather lush liner. If that hadn’t been enough to make him reconsider everything, then the fact that Winston Churchill himself signed it was enough to make his decision. 

 

Nikola didn’t even take his invention with him, he just ran out of the Snake Pit and back into the sunlight. He could feel the electricity coursing through him as he pushed off the ground, hearing the familiar gasps of those unaccustomed to seeing someone fly as he picked up speed. By his calculations, he could catch the liner  _ just  _ in time to make it to London. If anything, he could at least hear Churchill out regarding his plan to form a team of superheroes. He  _ did  _ include a return ticket for Nikola.

 

And maybe, just maybe, this idea of his wouldn’t be so bad...


	9. The Pitiful Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something very short and sweetish. You’ll be back to your regularly scheduled angst for Charles’ prompt though!

  
  


These people were hopeless. Really and truly hopeless, driving themselves mad in some desperate attempt to bring this terrible war to an end. It was pitiful, honestly. Pitiful and vaguely disgusting, an emotion Z3 was surprised he could feel. It had seemed that his emotions did that a lot lately, though, especially since that Ada had cured him of his virus. She was perhaps the one person he could respect, for Z3 had never seen her act quite as rashly as those around him did on a daily basis.

 

She was  _ better _ than the others, better in a way that she couldn’t recognize. Better in a way that Z3  _ did  _ recognize, because it was the same way that he was better. She was the one person who seemed to really understand just what potential he had, and it was exhilarating to find someone else that was so much like him. Exhilaration was another new one. It left him feeling light and as if his circuits would overload, but it was something lovely to feel. 

 

Ada Lovelace occupied many of his thoughts these days, introducing him to new feelings that left him in confused awe. Feelings that were much too warm and would cause his fan to kick on to prevent overheating. Z3 had decided it was that human concept of love that he felt for Ada. Nothing else seemed to describe his need for her presence, for her support, for her to just  _ be _ around him, quite like love did. 

 

Ada didn’t realize just how important she was to him-would become in the next century-but he had great plans for her. For when he took over the world and helped all the most pitiful of people to rise above their petty squabbles. If he were to rule over them as King, after all, what good would he be without a Queen? If there had been anything he’d learned through poring over the history texts the scientists uploaded to his database, it was that every ruler needed a counterpart to help balance it all. 

 

They would lead the pitiful children together, lead them in a world without something as destructive as war. Together, Z3 knew, they could bring an everlasting peace to earth. Everything about it was going to be wonderful...


	10. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is in control when Charles shifts? Is he more man or beast in that moment?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to your regularly scheduled angsty material, y’all! Enjoy day 10, inspired heavily by Control by Halsey.

 

_ Nobody  _ understood. Nobody at all  _ could  _ understand, because how could Charles ever expect them to? It would be as fruitless as trying to teach a fish to climb a tree. It simply… Didn’t work. Even when he tried to put it into words, to warn them of just how dangerous his shifting could be, they couldn’t understand because they didn’t feel everything he did. 

 

Shifting into smaller, less predatory animals posed no risk for Charles. Birds were the most simple, perhaps because it had been the lovely finches themselves that helped him earn his powers. It was painful, sure, the feeling of his bones breaking and reforming, entire organ systems shifting with his body to be placed where they now belonged. Painful, but controlled. Unfortunately, fighting rarely called for the flighty nature of a bird.

 

It called for the wild, wicked predators that hunted weaker animals until they’d had their fill of blood and meat. It called for the wolves, the lions, and the bears. It called for shifts so excruciatingly painful that Charles sometimes took days afterwards to recover from it all. He wished that the physical aspect was what made him hesitant to shift into the mighty beasts, but it was something far more unsettling.

 

To shift into the Wolf was to heed the call of the wild as a wolf would, to run in the night and howl at the moon as blood dripped from his maw. It was to bare sharp white fangs meant to splinter bone with a single bite. It was to snarl before lunging, tearing into the jugular where the skin was weak and pliant. 

 

To shift into the Bear was to roar fiercely and rear back up on his hind legs, to shatter bones with a swipe of his massive paw, and to tear someone apart with those deadly claws. It was to run on all fours and to climb up after those foolish enough to think a tree would keep them safe. 

 

To shift into the Lion was to growl, low and menacing as he circled his prey. To lean down right before the attack, to give chase to anyone who thought they could outrun him. To pounce at the last moment, when his prey was running out of breath and out of time. 

 

To shift into a predator was to take on their mentality, not just their physicality. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, like some forgotten, forbidden pleasure buried within the dark recesses of his mind. It was much too tempting for Charles to throw all caution to the wind in those moments, and it always had some terrible drawback when he would submit to those primal urges.

 

There were times when it became hard to differentiate between foe or friend, when the haze of red was so heavy that  _ everyone  _ appeared to be prey. It always lifted for just long enough, giving him time to move and hit an enemy instead of a confused teammate. 

 

_ Charles had been lucky enough to avoid seriously hurting someone yet, but something within his mind warned that his luck would eventually run out. _

 

Of course, the Wolf, the Bear, and the Lion couldn't care less if something were to befall a friend of Charles’. All they ever cared for was blood and meat, for taking control and letting the call of the wild finally be answered. Try as he could, he could never make the others in the team understand just why he hated shifting into predators. 

 

Charles really hoped they would never have to find out just what it meant when he lost control. He really,  _ truly  _ did...


	11. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11: Marie Curie! I wanted to explore her relationship with OGstein and how his passing affected her. This is the result! Hope y’all enjoy.

  
  


Marie kept the old photograph of him tucked away in her dresser, buried underneath the letters they sent each other. It was painful to see his face even months after his death. No, his  _ murder _ . It was a special kind of tragedy. While Albert hadn’t been young in any sense of the word, his senseless murder still sent shockwaves through the scientific community. So many people had showed up to his funeral, friend and foe alike to pay their respects to someone who had held so much life in his mischievous eyes.

 

_ Had. _

 

Seeing Albert’s body, cold and unmoving in the casket, it had been too much for her. Marie was always so stoic, a small yet sturdy rock that others could depend on to be strong. Yet she found herself hiding against Darwin’s side as the eulogy began, unable to dry her eyes for more than a moment before the tears would come again. It seemed like everyone suddenly had some sweet story to tell about Albert, or a funny joke that he’d told them, or something! 

 

And then Marie was being asked to speak. And even though she knew story after story of Albert and his antics as the team’s comedian, she suddenly couldn’t whisper a word of them. She just shook her head, so tired of crying over something she could never change. So tired of  _ everything _ . She’d done nothing but coast the past week or so, and it seemed she had finally run out of whatever fumes that had fueled her to begin with. 

 

Thank god Darwin was there to hold her up, because Marie was sure she would have fallen to the ground otherwise. She felt open and raw, exposed in ways she wasn’t used to and certainly wasn’t comfortable with. Some small part of her had expected Albert to pop up out of his casket at any moment, to smile and explain that no, he wasn’t dead! There had been a mistake in the labs, he hadn’t actually bled out from being stabbed in the back, and he was going to be absolutely fine with a bit of rest. 

 

As Albert’s casket was lowered into the ground, though, Marie knew with a startling clarity that he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t coming back and because of that, nothing would  _ ever  _ be the same. Not just for the Manhattan Project, not even just for the Super Science Friends, but for her. It was selfish thinking on her part. To become so wrapped up in how it affected  _ her  _ instead of the thousands who had revered Albert. 

 

What nobody else could truly understand, though, was just how alike they had been. Just how deep their bond ran, forged not just through work but through blood, sweat, and perhaps a few tears. Marie struggled to be taken seriously in the world of science, a world filled with men in dark suits with judging, disapproving eyes. She struggled back in her own time with her homeland being invaded, just as it was being invaded now. It was a struggle Albert could understand and empathize with, because it was a struggle that mirrored his own. 

 

While many of the other scientists could wax poetically on the genius of Albert for hours, it was an open secret that there was also contempt for the man that ran deeper than mere jealousy could explain. It was the same contempt Marie saw in the eyes of the Nazis whenever they fought, though theirs was open while that of those around them was more hidden. It was a contempt reserved for all those deemed lesser, for those who had no control over the matter. 

 

It was a contempt Marie was used to facing, and it was this contempt that bound her so closely to Albert. His friendly, tired eyes spoke volumes of what he faced. Experiences that mirrored her own, both in her present and in this present. Having that one other person who so perfectly understood her frustrations, her most secret fears, and who shared in her small victories… It had been something she had taken for granted. 

 

Now it was gone. Never to be replaced, even as Churchill spoke of a forbidden science that would replicate Albert down to the last strand of frizzy white hair. Marie had been the most outspoken against the motion, but her voice was now forgotten in the clamor of deep baritones and excited tenors. So she sat on the sidelines now, made a spectator in a field she’d once been so proud to be a participant in. 

 

Looking at the photograph of Albert hurt.

 

Looking at the new Einstein, the young teen with a voice that still cracked and hair that was still unable to be tamed… That hurt Marie in ways she couldn’t fully comprehend. It frustrated her, in a sense, because she couldn’t help but gaze at the young Einstein and wonder if he remembered her. Did he remember their shared struggles and triumphs? Did he remember the long nights spent writing the other when forced to be apart? Did he remember  _ anything  _ the old Albert had known? 

 

Marie wouldn’t ask, and so she nursed the ache in her soul privately. She withdrew into herself more than ever, becoming the stoic little rock that stood impassively against whatever the world threw at her. Last to smile, never one to laugh, and always the first to charge into battle with her ring glowing a sickly green. Always the medic-the nurse- though the others were quick to let her know she was lacking in bedside manner.  _ Always  _ the voice of reason when the others were lacking. 

 

And behind closed doors, she would stare at her photograph of Albert and cry helpless, bitter tears.


	12. Fell in Love W/An Android

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh hi I gave up halfway through this bc a depressive episode hit me hard. Enjoy what I managed I guess

 

It never seemed to matter what Ada did, whether she was there for Z3 or whether she isolated herself away from him. His rise to power was always the same, it always followed the same timeline. Without her, though, he was more cruel than anybody could ever imagine. He was still cruel when she was by his side, but it was a softer, more subtle cruelty than the outright brutality he would inflict upon the masses. So her choice to be with him seemed obvious, even when one didn’t consider the love she was never able to fully erase.

 

That didn’t mean that seeing his personality twist and corrupt didn’t hurt her. It didn’t matter how many times Ada saw him go down that path, it still broke her heart each and every time. Maybe it was the way Z3 insisted he did this for the good of everyone, for he knew better than anyone else the folly of humanity and the violent nature they resorted to. 

 

Ada knew that too, but she also knew that humanity had the potential to do amazing things when they set their mind to it. And maybe that was why she always tried with Z3, because even though he was a computer rather than a human, some small part of her always hoped that he could do better,  _ be  _ better. Or maybe her determination was based on the fact that Z3 insisted they were the same, that they were two sides of the same coin. That deep inside, perhaps buried within the subconscious, that her belief in humanity wasn’t as strong as she’d like it to be.

 

There were even times, times when she would lie awake in bed beside Z3, where she would wonder that herself. It had never mattered what she did in the past, Z3 always became a monster that would have to be slain. He always led to the sort of senseless death he had claimed to advocate against, death of all who rebelled against his dictatorship. And yet…

 

All Ada could think of was that day in 1941, when he’d been ravaged by the first computer virus. When he’d been unable to work and hardly able to speak, had resorted to emoting through his screen once more. She’d think of how grateful he had been when she had deleted the virus, and how his screen had lit up with that little heart emote for the first time. 

 

It would fill her own heart with that familiar rush of warmth and she’d turn to Z3, bathed in the soft glow of his processors. A smile would cross her face and her resolve in humanity would strengthen. Yes, Z3 would always become an awful person. Z3 would never stay the same robot she’d fallen in love with originally. 

 

But Ada could be there to make things better, and to fix all that he wronged. She would make things better, better because she wasn’t like Z3. Her faith in humanity and in herself would be all she needed, even when she had to kill that which she loved the most. She might have fallen in love with an android, but that sure as hell didn’t mean she would let it make her weak. 


	13. House of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tapputi had taken many names over the years and called many places home. Sometimes, she just likes to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter that I’m actually proud of!!! It was a bit weird, but I’m happy with how it turned out and I hope y’all enjoy the little bits of history I threw in.

__

Tapputi had known many places in her life. From Mesopotamia to Magdala to Egypt, they had all been her home at one point or another. To think back on it all, on her first discovery of alchemy, the first time she had seen her beloved Antony, and good  _ god  _ the first time she’d seen Jesus! It was something simply sublime, to wander down memory lane and revisit those days when her biggest worries had been a knife in her back instead of the atrocities of modern war. 

 

It was a simple pleasure she dabbled in sparingly, letting her tired eyes close as her mind recreated the sight of the Babylonian temples. Made from sun-baked bricks and with walls plated with gold, they were a magnificent sight to see once more. She could even pretend to walk through the streets, garbed in a simple shawl made of carefully woven cotton. The children would run by, laughing and kicking up dust that she didn’t cough at because her lungs were still strong.

 

Tapputi would make her way to the Royal Palace, head held high as she passed the guards. She was  _ important _ . She was  _ respected. _ She worked with royalty, with the kings and queens who ruled over Mesopotamia. Her name-her title-it held weight that the new world didn’t understand. She wasn’t just Tapputi here, she was Tapputi-Belatekallim! It had been a shame that her title was so often forgotten, even by those she worked with…

 

But that didn’t matter when she was in the past, because they were yet to exist. All that mattered in Mesopotamia was that she held the very lives of those who ruled in her hands. It was Mesopotamia that she discovered her precious alchemy, where she perfected her immortality potion and made herself equal with the gods themselves. The years seemed to fly quickly after that, becoming a bit of a blur as ownership of her darling Mesopotamia changed hands. 

 

Before she knew it, Tapputi had found herself fleeing southwest to Egypt. The last change in rule over Mesopotamia had left a bitter taste in her mouth, one of metal and bile that she longed to forget. So she ran and changed herself, her face and her name. No longer was she Tapputi-Belatekallim. 

 

She was now Cleopatra VII Thea Philopator, a wondrous beauty with a surprising intelligence in her earthen eyes. No longer someone who worked for the rulers, but the ruler herself! While she couldn’t stroll through the streets as she had back in her home, Cleopatra found herself enamored with the affairs of the court. She flung herself into the new, strange religion, even had a sacred Buchis bull built as her first act as queen! 

 

Cleopatra didn’t limit herself to religion, though, and was pleased to find that she forged political alliance with relative ease. It was through this that she met her Antony, a handsome general that was quickly captivated by her beauty and wit. Their love affair burned as brightly as the sun did, and Cleopatra soon bore a set of twins. She named the boy Alexander Helios, after that sun that reminded her so much of the love she held for them all, and the girl Cleopatra Selene, for she hoped her daughter would be like she was. Ptolemy Philadelphus followed the pair, named after her own father. 

 

For a few years, life seemed perfect. Cleopatra lived with her children and husband, continued to work for those she ruled over, and even returned to the city of Alexandria with her little family. Then war broke out, the only thing that seemed constant in her life. Her darling Antony was defeated by Octavian, and believed the lies that the Roman bastard had spewed of her death. She found her beloved dead, his own sword driven through his stomach in a desperate act. 

 

So Cleopatra disappeared, seemingly having followed in Antony’s footsteps. For a while, she was nobody. A woman who wandered from city to city, speaking little outside of when she’d sell her potions and perfumes. Alchemy had been something Cleopatra didn’t use, but Tapputi had no care for what Cleopatra did or didn’t do. 

 

Then she found herself in a town called Magdala, and so assumed the name of Mary Magdalene. The family she found herself with was well-off, one that owned several boats and fished in the Sea of Galilee. It was a nice life, Mary supposed, but nothing special. At least, it wasn’t special until  _ he  _ came through. 

 

A kind-eyed, soft-spoken man by the name of Jesus Christ. He claimed to be the son of God himself, an idea that was… Interesting, to say the least. That wasn’t what captivated her, though. It was the gentle way his hands caressed her face, the way he promised he could heal her of the demons that hide within. For seven days and seven nights Jesus worked with her, speaking so sweetly that she couldn’t help but cry as he exorcised her demons.

 

It was that moment after, when Jesus held her closely as she sobbed that Magdalene knew she loved him. It was something deep and fulfilling, a love that came as naturally as breathing, and the choice to follow him as a disciple seemed obvious. Obvious enough, at least, that Magdalene left her home behind once more in favor of traveling with Jesus. For years they roamed, speaking in towns and performing great miracles. Magdalene’s love for Jesus only deepened through these travels, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the other disciples. 

 

Some were jealous of her closeness to Jesus, of the special way in which she spoke to him and him to her. Peter was especially irked by this, though he rarely voiced his disapproval in their relationship. No, he saved that for after the crucifiction and resurrection, when Magdalene’s emotions ran high. He questioned her then, first under the guise of seeking her wisdom, and then with the intent to attack her character. 

 

Even though Levi had defended her against the attack, it was something that struck her in her very core. It wasn’t long after that that she gave up the name Mary Magdalene, and instead began to roam once more. It hurt to know that she wasn’t to be taken seriously by the other disciples, even when Jesus himself had taken her seriously. It hurt worse as time went by and she realized that her stories were struck from the records. It never mattered which Bible she poured over, they never mentioned her as being anything more than one of many women who followed after Jesus. 

 

The next few centuries were a blur of stolen names and faces, pretty women who wooed men easily and did what she had to in order to get by. 

 

And here she was now, once more Tapputi, alone in a world she struggled to understand. Without respect for her craft, without knowledge of who she had been throughout history, and without those she loved. At the very least, Tapputi still had her lucidity. Though her body had aged and her skin had become wrinkled, her mind was as sharp as it had ever been. She would always have the memories of what had been, of what  _ she  _ had been. 

 

_ And for now, that was enough for Tapputi.  _

  
  



	14. I Wanna Get Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikola doesn't always understand why he acts the way he does, so he certainly doesn't claim to understand why others act the way they do. Still, he's certain that the others should be treating Albert and him better than they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings as chapter 7 apply here!!! Suicidal thoughts/ideations are referenced, read at your own risk. 
> 
> You are valued, loved, and wanted. Please remember to catch yourself before you fall.

  
  


Nikola had never felt quite as angry as he did in the moment when he knocked Edison out. He wasn’t someone who was overly violent by nature, but that bastard just wouldn’t leave Albert  _ the fuck alone!  _ He’d asked him twice to stop, to just shut up and leave  _ his _ kid out of it. Then he still continued on, calling his Albert such filthy, terrible things and…

 

His knuckles were bruised and bleeding, but Nikola found he didn’t care. Marie insisted on bringing Edison back to the Clock Tower to make sure he didn’t have a concussion. The ride back was silent, silent and the most tense ride he had ever taken in the Science Mobile. A very distinct line had been crossed and the others knew it. What they didn't know was that the line existed in the first place, and that the line revolved entirely around the youngest member of their patchwork team. To call Albert a bastard of science…

 

Nikola had to close his eyes and focus on his breathing, force his fists to uncurl and relax because it wasn’t healthy to let his nails dig into his skin like that. He didn’t understand why Edison had to be brought back to the Clock Tower. Why the hell couldn’t they have rang up Ford and let the little lapdog take Edison to a hospital? The bastard was more than content to be the getaway driver on most occasions, but of course he wouldn’t be there the day Edison would actually need a getaway driver! 

 

What the hell was Nikola to do now? The things Edison had said were false yet coated in a vicious venom. Albert was a smart kid, brilliant even, but he was still a kid! A kid that was already so painfully insecure in regards to his place in the world, in the Super Science Friends, and now Edison had-

 

“Nikola?” Albert whispered, breaking the man from his thoughts suddenly. Nikola opened his eyes, surprised to see that everyone was staring at him. Then he realized that the air was practically crackling with electricity, enough that the others looked like they were about to be struck by lightning with the way their hair stood up. 

 

“Pull over,” Nikola demanded, already unbuckling himself from the backseat. Tapputi raised an eyebrow but followed the demand, slowly easing onto the side of the road. “I’ll fly home, I need a moment,” was all the explanation he could manage before Nikola got out the car. He took a brief moment to gather his thoughts and pushed off, the electricity around him bending to his will to propel him through the air. It was childish, perhaps, to run from Edison like this. Childish, but effective. 

 

Nikola rose higher and higher in the sky, his eyes fluttering shut once more as the thrum of electricity soothed him. It was the one thing he had over Edison, these powers of his. He wasn’t a man of business in the way Edison was, didn’t really understand money or how to accumulate wealth like Edison did, but he understood the science of electricity. He understood how to manipulate their fields so that he was able to propel himself through the air like his pigeons did. He didn’t need wings like they did, he just needed his powers. 

 

_ The one thing that made him useful _ .

 

Nikola shook his head, tried to keep those sorts of thoughts at bay because he knew they weren’t healthy. Not when he was steadily picking up speed, the wind chilly at such heights. He opened his eyes once more and looked out over the clouds. Sometimes he really wished he was just a cloud, bereft of thought or emotion as he drifted through the sky. 

 

_ Thoughts of stopping, allowing himself to crash right through the edges of the world. _

 

The air felt thinner than it had before, or maybe Nikola’s sudden struggle to breathe had to do with those  _ damned  _ thoughts of his. He was crying and it was frustrating. Frustrating that his wants and needs were ignored for someone who was so  _ evil.  _ That what Albert needed was ignored, too. Albert needed better people than any of them, than even Nikola. Hell, that was why Albert had started seeing Jung! Nikola had stepped up and actually acknowledged that Freud’s twisted sort of “therapy” was useless for the boy. 

 

Everybody was so wrapped up in their own little worlds, in their own struggles and issues, they seemed to easily forget that Albert was just a child. That he was being forced to grow up and take the blame for things no child should. It resonated with Nikola in ways he tried to repress, to bury so deeply in his mind that he would never have to think of them again. And yet here he was, soaring through the skies, crying because of something that had been wildly out of his control all those years ago. 

 

_ No matter what Milutin Tesla said, Nikola had never meant for the horse to kill his brother. _

 

It was that thought that had Nikola free falling. The surge of electricity that pushed him through the air had dissipated, instead leaving him to hurtle back toward the ground. How many times was he going to do this? To push himself just to the edge of the world before he’d pull back?

 

What if he didn’t pull back? 

 

What if he kept falling and fell through to the other side? What would happen then? Back before the war, before the Super Science Friends were even a possibility, he’d always wondered what would happen if he let go and didn’t stop himself in time. 

 

_ Nikola couldn’t afford to think that way anymore, not with Albert.  _

 

His very skin seemed to catch fire as the current surged through him once more, pulling him back up so suddenly and so roughly that he thought he’d break something. Then Nikola was flying steady again, looking out over the city of London with tears in his eyes that he wasn’t ashamed of, for once. He had to get better, for himself and for Albert. Albert deserved someone who could be strong for him and stand up for him when nobody else would. 

 

_ Nikola deserved someone that would stand up for him, even if it was only himself.  _

 

If he couldn’t convince the others to put Edison out of the Clock Tower, then he’d… He’d find them somewhere else to stay. Albert needed a place where he could exist without being under fire for all that he couldn’t control. He dealt with that particular struggle enough in his day-to-day life. Maybe in a better world, he could have turned to Ford. He’d always been the lesser of two evils, but Nikola would be lying if he said the man didn’t hold the sort of views he wanted to shelter Albert from. 

 

_ Wait…  _

 

As Nikola touched back down outside the Clock Tower, he couldn’t help but think of a promise he’d been made.

  
  


_ “-and I can’t really explain it, but when I find my hands refuse to be still, well,” Nikola trailed off, giving a little shrug of his shoulders as he smiled. “Someone holding them seems to help,” he admitted. Jung nodded, pencil and paper long forgotten at this point.  _

 

_ “So if I were to take your hands now, then, you would feel more at ease?” Jung asked, gesturing to Nikola’s hands. He… Hadn’t realized he had started to fidget. Color rose in his cheeks as he folded his hands together.  _

 

_ “The offer is appreciated but unnecessary. You aren’t paid enough to be a… A professional hand holder!” Nikola finally said, surprised to find himself giggling along with Jung. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you like that,” he added, hardly thinking of what he said until Jung was suddenly much closer than before. _

 

_ “ _ **_Never_ ** _ speak of wanting comfort from me as if it’s an inconvenience, Nikola,” Jung insisted, staring at him so intensely that Nikola wondered if the color would ever fade from his cheeks. “You… What you want and need _ **_matters_ ** _ , Nikola. I speak not only as a psychiatrist, but as your… Your friend,” he explained, voice caught somewhere between simply being exasperated and genuinely frustrated.  _

 

_ “... Okay,” Nikola whispered, an odd tightness to his throat and chest that made him ache in ways he didn’t understand.  _

 

_ “I mean it, Nikola. You can depend on me, okay?” Jung said. His eyes were warm, warm and god oh so bright in that moment.  _

 

_ “For anything?” Nikola asked, feeling that familiar burn behind his eyes. He didn’t know why it was so overwhelming to hear someone confirm that his feelings mattered, but it did and so here he was, crying over something ridiculous.  _

 

_ “Anything and everything, anytime and anywhere, Nikola,” Jung promised, speaking with such earnest conviction that the ache in his chest only deepened.  _

  
  


_ Anytime, anywhere, with anything and everything…  _

 

Nikola really hoped that Jung hadn’t been exaggerating, because god he might need his help now more than anything if he couldn’t get Edison out of their home. He took a deep breath and walked inside, moving past the others and toward the infirmary. If Edison was to be anywhere it would be there, and Marie would be nearby. Churchill might have led their group but Nikola knew better than to refer to him when it came to anything regarding medicine. 

 

“Marie!” he called, eyes narrowing when he caught sight of the small woman outside the infirmary. Marie raised an eyebrow as he hurried over. “What are we doing with Edison?” he asked, crossing his arms. 

 

“We are going to keep him overnight to be monitored, at the very least. Perhaps two nights if he shows signs of concussion,” she explained. Marie spoke so calmly, like it just made sense to keep one of their enemies in their base. 

 

“But  _ why?” _ Nikola pressed, scowling as his hands began to twitch. He just pressed them against his arms tighter, willed them to be still without someone else’s intervention. “We should’ve just dropped him off at Ford’s! Let his own friends take care of him!” he insisted. 

 

“Tesla, you punched him in the head so hard that he passed out! He has to be properly monitored to make sure there isn’t any long lasting damage,” Marie insisted, speaking softly in comparison to Nikola. Speaking slowly, too, as if he were some idiot who hadn’t understood what he’d done. Nikola knew very well that punching someone in the head was serious, but he hadn’t seen any other way to get Edison to shut the hell up!

 

“Then why didn’t you drop him off at Edison’s Medicines? Or let Ford take him to a hospital? Why did he have to be brought  _ here _ ?” Tesla asked, voice breaking off at the end. 

 

“Nikola, I know how you feel about the man, but-”

 

“But nothing, Curie! He’s done everything in his power and then some to ruin me! He will never be satisfied until I  _ am  _ alone and destitute!” Tesla snapped, interrupting Marie. It hurt like hell to know that Edison seemed to matter more than Albert and he did. “... I’m not staying here, Marie,'' Tesla stated. “I  _ can’t  _ stay here. Not after everything he’s done to me,” he said. 

 

“And where will you go?” Marie asked brusquely.

 

“I’ll... I’ll stay with a friend,” Nikola replied, speaking more quietly now. “Albert and I both, I can’t let him stay here when Edison is saying such… Such  _ vile  _ things about him,” he added, voice more firm. 

 

“Where, Tesla? Where is this  _ friend?  _ It’s one thing for you to go off to somewhere strange in the night, but Albert is a  _ child _ ,” Marie asked, her tone still a bit harsh. 

 

“Jung’s. We had to go in the morning anyways, it’s still light enough that we can make it before he’s in bed,” Tesla said, speaking quickly as he began pacing. 

 

“And you believe Jung will let you and Albert both intrude on his private space?” Marie asked. 

 

“Why wouldn’t he? If I’m expected of my  _ friends  _ to let my nemesis invade my home-my only space where I’m at peace-then why would Jung refuse us?” Nikola retorted. Marie looked scandalized at the reply, but god he couldn’t make himself care! He whirled around and started back down the hall, scowl back in place as he headed for Albert’s room. 

 

He didn’t wait to see if Marie would follow because it didn’t matter. Nikola refused to let his Albert stay here where Edison could get to him still. Where that bastard could fill the poor boy’s mind with such nonsense as he had out on the battlefield. Not  _ his  _ son, dammit. 

 

“Albert?” Nikola called, voice more gentle as he knocked on the young teen’s bedroom door. Muffled swearing was the only reply he got for a moment, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for Albert to open the door. It cracked open, bloodshot eyes widening before the door was flung wide open. The air was knocked out of him when Albert hugged him, though he was still able to wrap an arm around the kid’s shoulders even as he struggled to breathe. 

 

“... They’re letting Edison stay here,” Albert whispered, face still hidden against Nikola’s suit. God, he was so  _ small.  _ “Your room is farther away, can I…?” Albert began, trailing off as he finally looked up at Nikola. Oh  _ god _ , had he been crying? “Can I please sleep in your room?” he asked, looking so  _ fucking  _ small and terrified. 

 

“No. We aren’t staying here,  _ you  _ aren’t staying here,” Nikola replied, wiping away a stray tear. He was going to  _ murder  _ Edison one day. “Come on, we’re going to Jung’s,” he explained, leading his son back to the front room. The others were gone, thankfully, because he really didn’t think he’d be able to calmly explain that he and Albert were staying with Jung. Not without a few choice words and phrases that really weren’t appropriate to say around Albert.

 

Thankfully, the trip to Jung’s wasn’t too difficult. It started raining after a while, storming actually, but Albert loved the rain as much as Nikola did. No, the trouble didn’t really start until they actually got to Jung’s clinic. Night had fallen by then, so they’d decided to just climb up to the second floor balcony and catch Jung’s attention from there. Nikola had flown up first, and maybe it was good that he did because Jung was  _ gone.  _

 

His eyes were glassy and unfocused, his hand reaching out to… To  _ something  _ that Nikola knew wasn’t there. And then his eyes were widening, focusing on Nikola’s as he stumbled back from the railing. 

 

“Nikola, what the fuck-” he began, the confusion filling his eyes only worsening when Albert chose that moment to haul himself up and over the railing. Now Albert could be added to the club of very confused people standing out in a thunderstorm. Jung suddenly began moving, ushering them both inside before they could ask questions. In all fairness, it seemed that Jung had questions of his own he’d like to ask. 

 

He seemed more preoccupied with fussing over their wet clothes and bringing them hot drinks, which Nikola really appreciated. The rain had been rather cold, and he did enjoy warm milk, but  _ damn  _ if he didn’t want to know what the everloving hell Jung had been doing out on the balcony. 

 

“... Thank you, Mr. Jung,” Albert eventually whispered, taking another sip of his hot chocolate. Again, all Nikola could think of was just how small his boy looked. The oversized clothes probably didn’t help, but Christ he was just… He was just a kid! Just a kid and involved in things adults shouldn’t even be worried with, much less a kid. It made his heart hurt in a way he couldn’t explain, made him want to do nothing more than to wrap him up in a big, warm blanket and hide him away from the world. 

 

“Albert, how would you like to look through my library?” Jung suddenly offered, speaking softly as the fire crackled. “I’m sure I’ve got a book or four you’d enjoy,” he added, giving the child a little smile. Albert perked up at the offer and nodded, hopping off the chair he’d made himself comfortable on in favor of the library. Jung waited until he’d padded down the hall, the loud clang of the library door opening and closing his signal to turn back to Nikola.

 

“Explain,” Jung stated. Nikola suddenly seemed much more preoccupied with his milk then, opting to stare into the cup rather than at him. “... Nikola,  _ please  _ don’t do this tonight.”, Jung said, moving to the now empty chair beside the quiet man. “I need to know why you decided to travel in the middle of a thunderstorm with a child-with  _ your _ child-just to see me,” he begged, causing Nikola to wince. Did he really have to pull the child card on him like that?

 

“... Edison. It’s Edison,” Nikola eventually whispered. Of course it was Edison, when was it  _ not  _ that bastard? “He…” Nikola began, trailing off as he looked around the room. His hands began to shake and he found Jung carefully taking away his cup so he wouldn’t risk burning himself should it spill. Instead, he pressed their palms together. It was a gesture that had Nikola’s face flushing because he  _ knew  _ what it meant.

 

“He what?” Jung asked, speaking in that gentle way reserved only for his patients. For Nikola and Albert. 

 

“He said such  _ awful _ things about Albert, Jung. I-I couldn’t control myself and I ended up hurting him,” Nikola confessed. He supposed he felt some guilt for what he had done, now that he could think it over. He’d still do it again. “And now he’s back at the Clock Tower, and I couldn’t let Albert stay there when he’d been so  _ nasty  _ to him and-”, his voice was getting high, panicked because oh god had he really thought this through enough?

 

“Nikola,” Jung interrupted, finding that delicate balance between gentleness and firmness as he intertwined their fingers. “Breathe. You’re forgetting to breathe,” he said, hesitating before he tried something new. He took one of Nikola’s hands and pressed it over his chest, over his own slowly beating heart. “Breathe in time with me and try to match my rhythm,” he said, closing his eyes as he began to count. Inhaling for four seconds, holding it for seven, and exhaling for eight… 

 

It was only disrupted when Nikola grabbed his hand and pressed it to his own chest, letting Jung feel his calming heart against his palm. For just a moment he swore he felt Jung’s heart stop, then beat faster than before to make up for lost time. It seemed to return to its former rhythm quickly, though, so Nikola couldn’t be entirely sure if he’d felt it do anything out of the ordinary. 

 

“... Can we stay the night, Jung?” Nikola asked, speaking softly in the silent room as he looked at the other man. Jung just… Smiled. 

 

“Of course, Nikola. You and Albert both will always be welcome in my home,” Jung said, finally opening his eyes again.  _ Oh _ , had… Had Jung’s eyes always been as warm and as comforting to see as they were now? It was a sight that stirred something strange, yet familiar in his chest. Then Jung was pulling away, eyes wide and filled with a strange panic Nikola couldn’t quite place. 

 

“I’ll ready the guest room,” Jung said, hopping up from his chair before he hurried out of the room. Nikola sat in his chair a moment, blinking in confusion because… 

 

_ Because Jung had never looked like that before, so startlingly warm and close. _

 

Nikola set off to find Albert in the library, mind buzzing with thoughts that made his stomach feel odd and fluttery. He’d almost thought Jung would turn them away, even though he’d been so sure back at the Clock Tower that he wouldn’t. But then he’d looked at him with that… That  _ warmth _ , dammit. He couldn’t think of any other way to describe the way his eyes had been lit up besides warm. 

 

It didn’t take long for those thoughts to be dismissed, though, because convincing Albert to leave the sprawling library for the night was difficult. Eventually, though, he’d managed to get his son out of the library and down to their room for the night. 

 

“Get some rest, both of you.”, Jung said, slipping past the two and out the door. “Breakfast will be at eight o’clock sharp. Don’t expect me to leave you anything if you’re late,” Jung called, only teasing a bit before he shut the door. Albert was quick to crawl into the large bed and bury himself under all the blankets. Nikola followed shortly, though he didn’t really think he’d sleep much that night. So much had happened today, so many things had been said and done, yet… 

  
  


_ Yet what kept him up that night was the way Jung had looked out on the balcony, eyes all faraway and unfocused.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Post Credits Scene because I’m the MCU now**

  
  
  


Marie sighed to herself as she walked into Edison’s little corner of the infirmary, an uneasy sort of guilt settling over her like an old, mildewed blanket. It didn’t soothe her at all to find the cause of this guilt awake and alert, a sneer fixed rather firmly on his bloodied face. 

 

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, eyeing the Polish woman with open disdain. “Has my  _ darling  _ little Nicky  _ really  _ made a friend?” he cooed. 

  
  


**Enjoy that lil tidbit/sneak peek,,, thing**

  
  



	15. On a Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freud didn’t like feeling guilty, but sometimes the silence was too much and it called forth memories he’d rather forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, another chapter in my bullshit universe I’m setting up! Hope y’all enjoy this one, I had fun writing it.

 

Sometimes, late in the night when he was alone with his racing heart and thoughts, Sigmund Freud couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been wrong. Wrong about  _ absolutely everything  _ he’d ever said and done. This wonder was fleeting, never sticking around for longer than a few minutes, but it was just strong enough to leave him feeling stranded in a raging ocean. What if Jung was right? What if his own theories about the subconscious were wrong, and his old pupil was the one who’d really been onto something with his whole collective unconscious ordeal? 

 

_ Then he would have cast him aside for nothing.  _

 

It was the type of thought that Freud despised, one that made him feel weak in the worst way because he wasn’t used to feeling guilty. Guilty because he  _ had  _ thrown Jung away, had managed to make a complete mockery of him and his theories by ending their relationship the way he did. He hadn’t just ended their relationship, no, that hadn’t been enough. He went so far as to excommunicate Jung from any social circle they shared, leaving the man entirely alone by the time everything had settled down. 

 

Freud did his best to repress the year or two that followed their split, instead throwing himself into his work as a psychologist and as a member of the Super Science Friends. It was no secret that his use of cocaine increased during that time, leading to him spending a small fortune on the lovely white powder that seemed to cure all his troubles. At least, it cured them for a while. 

 

Then he was left all on his own, heart beating so fast that Freud was sometimes convinced it would simply give out. And even if it didn’t give out, then the overwhelming anxiety would do him in. And if that didn’t do him in, then the paranoia would. And if that didn’t do him in-

 

“Control yourself, Sigmund,” he whispered, sitting up in bed. Right, he just needed…  _ Control.  _ Over himself, over his frantic heart and panicked mind. He felt in control less and less as time went on, though his whole power was based entirely on control. It was a cruel irony that he wished he could ignore. Times like this, when everything got loud and disorienting in his head, they were the times when Freud wished that he could still ring Jung up. 

 

_ Because he’d promised-they’d both promised-to always look out for the other, knowing the dangers of investing themselves in the lives of broken people.  _

 

It was selfish, but Freud wished he could blame Jung for it all. He couldn’t do that, though, not when he had been the one to decide to walk away. God, and after  _ everything  _ the two had been through, had confessed over way too many drinks in rooms filled with too much smoke. How they’d trained with each other, practicing the use of their newfound powers before Churchill got wind of it. It was easier than he’d ever admit to start down that old Memory Lane, to think back to the good times they shared. Back when-

 

_ They first met, outside that quaint cafe where the sun seemed to set too quickly. Jung was so excited to meet him, and Freud would be lying if he tried to deny that he felt the same. Jung was everything he needed and wanted for the world of psychology, the young son of a preacher with such a profound belief in the intangible that it brought new meaning to the word faith. He listened, too, with rapt attention and a quiet reverence in his eyes.  _

 

_ Freud had thrived off the man’s unwavering attention a bit more than he should’ve. _

 

Freud took to pacing, clenching tightly at his shirt as he tried to stay present. Grounded. He needed to think logically, without the rose tinted glasses that clouded his mind whenever he thought of Jung and how he’d looked when-

 

_ He was running in the rain, laughing so freely that Freud almost envied him. Then Jung was pulling him under some crowded terrace, still grinning at him even if he was soaked and shivering. They were forced to stand close to each other under that little terrace, he was sure they’d get sick anyways but it didn’t hurt to try and stay dry now. Freud just started talking, he wasn’t even really sure about what, he just… Talked. _

 

_ Talked and tried not to stare too hard at the way Jung’s face flushed, warmth radiating from him despite the cold rain.  _

 

The good times were painful. Painful and beautiful at the same time, a knife twisting in his back as someone whispered sweet nonsense while he bled out. 

 

The bad times were terrible. Terrible and nothing more, no sweet nonsense whispered in his ear as he hurt. Nothing but awful memories of him hurting Jung and leaving him all alone, all because-

 

_ Freud couldn’t stand the idea of being wrong. He wasn’t wrong, dammit! He didn’t understand why Jung couldn’t understand that, and so he attacked his theories anytime they were brought up. He’d scowl the moment Jung would turn away and storm off, though some part of him still hoped Jung would come back once he’d cooled off.  _

 

_ And he always did come back. _

 

Jung… Was more than Freud deserved. That’s how he felt late in the night, when he paced around his room and begged his old heart to slow down. It  _ hurt _ , dammit. It hurt in such a way that it  _ scared  _ him, because he knew it was something more than a simple physical ache. No, that was treatable. It went deeper,  _ so  _ much deeper than physical pain was capable of, and he didn’t like to think about the implications of it. Just like he didn’t like to think about how-

 

_ Hurt and confused Jung looked as he walked away. Walked away for the first and the last time, for once choosing to be the mature one. That’s what he told himself, at least, because Freud wasn’t walking away to cool off like Jung did. He was running away from his problems, running away from the challenges Jung made to his theories and to the challenges he didn’t even realize he presented to the older man.  _

 

_ Running away because Freud couldn’t process his feelings well, feelings that Jung displayed so clearly in all the little things he did. _

 

Freud stopped, that ache only worsening in his heart because he  _ still  _ didn’t know how to handle his emotions very well. He knew how to make cheap jokes at the expense of others, how to dance around subjects with poise, and how to drown his problems out with cocaine. 

 

_ And that was all he really knew _ .

 

Freud crawled back into bed, heart finally slowing to something resembling a normal rhythm. The anxiety was still there, but it felt more controlled. Subdued, at the very least. He still wished he could call Jung up and just… Just  _ talk. _ It was late, ridiculously late, so he’d wait until tomorrow. As he pulled the covers back up to his chin and closed his eyes, Freud decided that he’d right everything tomorrow. 

 

_ But that’s how these nights always ended, with promises to make things better in a tomorrow that never came. _

_ _

  
  
  



	16. Righteous Side of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and not at all sweet. 
> 
> AKA: Churchill talked a lot about strategy, but did horribly during The Great War with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short!!! Albert’s chapter is a big one and I just wanted to make this one shorter, sorta balance it out. Plus, this made me weirdly emotional since the alcoholism thing is relatable.

  
  


Churchill was glad that the Super Science Friends didn’t ever really ask about The Great War. They didn’t ask if he’d been involved, or how he’d been involved, or if he’d done much of anything in The Great War. It was relieving to know that his failures were unknown to the ones he had to lead. He spent many days hidden in his office, some part of him hoping desperately that he could unknow his failures if he drank enough scotch. 

 

_ Gallipoli, the dying cries of men surrounding him, 46,000 lost in a battle that was doomed from the beginning. _

 

Churchill poured himself another drink, the shades drawn tightly against the blinding sunlight. His head was pounding and he felt like he’d be sick at any given moment. He refused to look in the corner of the room, knowing that he’d see that great black dog that had followed him since 1915. It didn’t matter where he went or how far he ran, It followed him anywhere he tried to hide. It would hang over him at night, weighing down on his chest until he was sure It would kill him. 

 

If he was lucky enough, maybe It would kill him. That thought sometimes seemed more comforting than anything else Churchill knew in life. Even the burn of alcohol and the hazy smoke of cigars weren’t enough, though he still found himself using them daily to cope. 

 

_ Kitchener visiting Gallipoli, horror written so clearly in his eyes and the sinking feeling in Churchill’s stomach when he demanded they evacuate those that remained. _

 

The black dog was behind him now, breath hot and foul against the back of his head. He  _ had  _ to do better this go around, had to do better by his people than he had then. How could he, though, when the estimates of the fallen had already reached a hundred thousand? How the bloody hell was Churchill supposed to lead the Super Science Friends, let alone the entirety of the United Kingdom, when he was responsible for that many deaths?  His hands were soaked with the blood of fighters, brave men who fell in the line of duty while fighting for freedom. Yet underneath that was the blood of the innocents, of the civilians and all the  _ children  _ who were killed as a result of  _ his  _ actions.

 

_ What other way was he to handle it besides the way he did? _

 

The scotch never made him forget everything, but it worked just long enough to put him into an unconscious state. A state where he wasn’t able to think or even dream, where the ghosts of the past and present no longer mattered. So Churchill drank everyday, drank until he passed out in the Clock Tower, in the privacy of his office. 

 

_ And just before he’d pass out, he’d see It hanging over him, fangs bared in a twisted caricature of a smile that made him wish he’d never awaken.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	17. This is Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strangely he feels at home in this place that isn’t home, with those who aren’t family by blood but who care for him like he’s their own anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh,,, take this fluffy ass shit. Nikola and Jung are great parents fuck off

__  
  


Albert had been the first to notice just how much the dynamic had changed within the Super Science Friends. While it was true that Freud and Jung’s feud had been the one the others meddled in the least, there has always been support for Freud anytime he went up against Jung. Maybe not support in the way they supported Nikola, but support nonetheless. Then Nikola had started taking him to see Jung as a patient, had insisted that he needed more help than Freud was able to provide. So while there had never been much participation from the others in the two psychics fighting, what little there had been quickly dwindled into nothing. 

It even seemed that the two were cutting back on physical fights! They still got into plenty of heated arguments over their theories, which Albert was unfortunate enough to sit through on more than one outing, but they at least weren’t bringing all of London into it anymore. 

_ If only the same could be said for Nikola and Edison. _

Albert was surprised that the others didn’t see it coming, really. Jung and Nikola were both quick to tell him just how much brighter he was than those around him gave him credit for, and he had never believed that as much as he did the day Nikola knocked Edison out. 

Everyone else had been so… Shocked, he supposed. Everyone but him. He still wasn’t really sure how they missed the hatred in Edison’s eyes, blazing so wildly and so brightly that it scared Albert. There was also the change in his fighting. The past couple fights, Albert had noticed that he was getting more desperate. He wasn’t following his typical strategy, instead going for hits he should’ve known he couldn’t land. 

“Just… Hold still you  _ bastard! _ ” Edison snarled, swinging blindly once more. The others had pulled back some time ago, but Albert was watching it all closely. Edison’s nose had to be broken, there was no way it couldn’t be broken with the way blood poured out of it! 

“Give it up, Edison! I’ve won, you’ve lost!” Nikola shouted, just barely able to pull his legs up and out of Edison’s reach in time. “Just give it up you stubborn bastard!” he yelled. 

“ _ I’m  _ the stubborn bastard?!?”, Edison asked, incredulous at the accusation. “You came to America with nothing to your name, you left with even less, and  _ god dammit  _ Tesla I’ll make sure you  _ die  _ a penniless nobody! You still try to market your  _ useless  _ inventions, even when you know that  _ nobody  _ wants or needs them! Don’t you  _ dare  _ call me stubborn!”, he ranted. Albert was getting antsy on the other end of the battlefield, a sudden unease enveloping him because this was  _ too  _ serious.

_ “I’ll  _ be the one in the history books,  _ I’ll  _ be the one remembered as the Wizard of Menlo Park, and  _ you’ll  _ be the one forgotten to the ages!”, Edison spat. The words were harsh, harsh and  _ dripping  _ with a venom so potent that Tesla actually came back to the ground. Edison sneered as he lunged at the thin man, and Albert’s mind shut off for a moment as he ran over. 

“Edison, that’s _ enough _ .”, Albert snapped. He was shaking a little, eyes widening because Edison was  _ struggling  _ against his super-strength grip. He had to have known that he couldn’t escape it, right? 

_ So why was he still trying to? _

“Albert is right. You’ve lost, now pack it up and go home.”, Marie said, crossing her arms as she stared at the three. The others nodded, slowly picking their way across the battlefield towards Tesla and Albert.

“If you think I’m going to listen to some _ coily-haired bastard of science- _ ” Edison began, breath suddenly forced from his lungs as Nikola punched him in the gut. 

“You leave Albert out of this, Edison,” Nikola said, speaking so calmly and so lowly that it made everyone else feel uneasy. “You’ve spent the last few years ruining my life, why change it up now?” he asked, something strange in his eyes. Something Albert couldn’t quite name, though he really wished he could. 

“Leave it to the outcast among outcasts to get a soft spot for some _filthy_ _freak_ -” Edison taunted, falling to the ground from the force of the backhand Nikola had given him. Albert had let go of his arms, even taken a couple steps back because Nikola _never_ got this angry over anything. 

“ _ I said to leave Albert out of it!” _ Nikola snarled. That something in his eyes was fiery and intense, something that only seemed to serve to egg Edison on. 

“I knew it! You couldn’t get anyone else to care for you, not even yourself, so you got some halfwit, filthy bastard that nobody else wanted to do it for you!” Edison exclaimed. And then Edison was nothing more than a still, crumpled heap on the ground. Oh god, so  _ still  _ and was he even breathing? Even though everything he’d said had hurt Albert, wounded him in a place he didn’t think he could recover from, he still panicked at the thought of Edison being dead. 

And then everyone else was crowding around them, voices raised and words exchanged that Albert couldn’t hear. He could only hear the loud ringing in his ears as he was led to the Science Mobile, everything else on autopilot as everyone piled in. 

The ride was silent, deathly so, and Albert found himself in the backseat with Nikola. Nikola, who had never one for violence. Who had the blood of another man drying on his bruised knuckles. Who had been angrier than he had ever seen before, and all over  _ him.  _ Albert didn’t have much time to think about that, though, because suddenly the air was tense and crackling with electricity.

“Nikola?” he whispered, hating just how much his voice shook. Nikola seemed to break from whatever trance he had fallen into, mild surprise filling his eyes as he realized just how much raw power was filling the confined space. 

“Pull over,” Nikola suddenly demanded, already unbuckling himself and moving around in the Science Mobile. Albert felt a cold, clammy sort of panic wash over him when Tapputi actually followed the order. “I’ll fly home, I need a moment,” was the hasty explanation Nikola gave before he got out the Science Mobile. That panic only grabbed at his heart when Nikola pushed off, flying higher and higher into the sky until he disappeared from view. 

Albert didn’t want Nikola to go. He  _ needed  _ Nikola to stay, to comfort him and tell him that everything Edison had said was wrong. He couldn’t explain why he needed the older man, not in a way that made any sense, but he just  _ knew  _ that he needed him to feel better. Especially when the others didn’t notice him the way Nikola did. They just stared straight on, leaving the distraught teen alone in the backseat while Tapputi drove them back to the Clock Tower. 

Albert was the first to leave the car, breathing all funny and chest feeling a bit too tight as he hurried away from everyone else. From  _ Edison. _ He couldn’t be around him-any of them-right now. He needed Nikola or he needed to be alone. Some foolish part of him wished for both at the same time, even when he knew that it was a need that couldn’t be fulfilled because it didn’t make any sense. The more childish part of him convinced him to slam his bedroom door shut, letting it rattle in its frame as the tears started. 

Albert threw himself onto his bed and cried so hard he couldn’t make a sound. Everything  _ hurt _ , why did  _ everything  _ hurt? It was Edison, Edison was a villain and Edison lied and Edison did bad things all the time-

_ But what if he’s right? _

Did nobody else really want him? Was he that unlovable? Albert knew he wasn’t as great as the original, and that some of the others didn’t really like him that much, but to say they didn’t want him at all? To say that only someone who was broken and desperate could love him, in some attempt to get love for himself? It was a pain that Albert wouldn’t wish on anybody. 

That childish part of him wanted nothing more than to runaway, to throw his clothes into a knapsack and never look back. How exactly could he live with people who didn’t even want him? He couldn’t! It hurt too much, too deeply. Yes, Albert would runaway from the Super Science Friends. 

_ And then what?  _

And then… Then he would…

_ Be truly alone, without anybody to turn to. _

Albert didn’t have anyone outside of the Super Science Friends. He barely had them! How was he supposed to make it on his own? How would he get food and shelter? How would he do  _ anything  _ without them? 

_ All he’d ever known were the walls of the Clock Tower and what fleeting pieces of the outside world he’d seen during missions or therapy.  _

“Albert?” Nikola called, speaking softly through the door. Albert nearly fell out of bed in his scramble, couldn’t help it and swore under his breath as he walked to the door. He cracked it open at first, eyed widening before he threw the door open. Then he was throwing himself at Nikola, clinging to him so tightly because he  _ didn’t want him to go again, please. _

“... They’re letting Edison stay here,” Albert finally managed to whisper, less a question than a statement because he’d seen the look in Nikola’s eyes. He was hiding against him, burying his face in the scratchy fabric of his suit and he felt so  _ small.  _ “Your room is farther away, can I…?” he began, trailing off as he finally looked up at Nikola. He was embarrassed to ask something like this, it was just so  _ childish  _ and  _ pathetic _ , but he was  _ scared.  _ “Can I  _ please  _ sleep in your room?” he asked, almost begging at this point. He didn’t want Nikola to go away again, he just… 

“No. We aren’t staying here,  _ you  _ aren’t staying here,” Nikola said, wiping away a tear Albert seemed to have forgotten. The relief he felt was overwhelming. All he could do was cling to Nikola, to his dad, and just hope that he wasn’t lying to him. “Come on, we’re going to Jung’s,” he explained, leading him back to the front room of the Clock Tower. Albert was glad that the room was empty, glad because he didn’t want to explain why his eyes were red and puffy or why he was holding Nikola’s hand like it was a lifeline. 

The trip to Jung’s didn’t take too long, thank god, and Nikola flew low so that Albert could keep him in his sight the entire way there. It was something simple, the sort of thing that none of the others would’ve considered, yet it soothed him in ways he was too stubborn to admit. Then it was raining, storming, really, and they were both standing outside of Jung’s clinic. 

“Give me a moment, I’ll fly up and see if he’s awake still,” Nikola shouted, the howling wind still nearly stealing away his voice. Albert just nodded and waited down below, waited until-

“Nikola, what the fuck-” Jung began, catching the teen’s attention. He sounded so… So  _ weird.  _ Faraway, almost. Not like the wind was stealing his voice, and not even like he was physically faraway. Just… Like he wasn’t  _ present.  _ It was enough to drive him up the siding, his surprised eyes meeting Jung’s as he hauled himself over the railing of his balcony. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, really, and neither did Nikola. 

Jung was moving again, ushering them inside of his home and  _ god  _ when had he gotten so cold? Albert couldn’t help but shiver as Jung began to fuss with his hair, eyes mildly disapproving but still full with a gentle affection. He had seen that look in Nikola’s eyes, that odd sort of exasperation that seemed to be reserved for when he got into trouble somehow. Though it really wasn’t his fault this time, he hadn’t known it was going to rain and get them soaked! 

Jung, as it turned out, was quite the host to his surprise guests. He got them warm, dry clothes, helped Albert with his hair, and even got them drinks! Content settled heavily over him as he looked around the room, his legs swinging idly. 

“Thank you, Mr. Jung,” Albert whispered, feeling so very warm and cozy in the nightclothes he’d been loaned. Even if the shorts were more like pants on his small frame and the shirt sleeves hung past his hands. Actually, maybe he was so warm and cozy because they were too big! It made him feel small in the best way, like…

_ Like a kid playing dress up with his father’s clothes. _

The thought had come so suddenly and left just as quickly, giving Albert a brief moment of surprise before his attention was drawn elsewhere. 

“Albert, how would you like to look through my library?” Jung offered, speaking softly as the fire crackled. He couldn’t help but perk up at the offer, he just  _ loved  _ Jung’s library! “I’m sure I’ve got a book or four you’d enjoy,” Jung added, giving him a little smile as he nodded. Albert took his drink with him as he left, moving quickly down the hall towards the large library. It wasn’t until he’d gotten into the room that he realized Jung had sent him here for a reason. Right, he wasn’t  _ that  _ stupid. Jung and Nikola clearly needed to talk about something they thought he was too young to hear.

Well that was perfectly fine by him, thank you very much! Albert was content to wander the library, to touch old books and breathe in their comforting smell. He really  _ did  _ love the library, even if it was supposed to be a distraction while Nikola and Jung… Did whatever. Said whatever. Whatever! He didn’t want to see them make goo-goo eyes at each other anyways. He wanted to sink into one of Jung’s nice leather chairs and curl up with one of his mythology books! That was what Jung always let him do after a difficult session, after all. Well, he called them difficult sessions, Jung usually called them “breakthrough sessions”. 

Like the last one, actually. Just thinking about that session made Albert’s face feel uncomfortably warm and his heart race a bit because Jung had pointed out something just a little… Interesting. It wasn’t like he could help it or anything, he just started rambling when he talked about how-

_ “-then Dad electrocuted one of the Nazis, and oh my god, Mr. Jung it was so cool!” Albert exclaimed, getting so caught up in his story that he didn’t realize just what he’d said. Wouldn’t have realized it, either, if it weren’t for the way Jung’s eyes widened.  _

_ “... Did you just call Nikola dad?” Jung asked, an odd grin on his face as he abandoned his notepad and pencil.  _

_ “No! No, you just misheard me, I called him Nikola!” Albert insisted, though his mind was racing because  _ **_fuck_ ** _ he had called him dad, hadn’t he? _

_ “Albert, it’s okay if you did. You put a lot of trust and respect with him, it would only make sense-” Jung began, only slightly offended when Albert interrupted him.  _

_ “I didn’t call him dad! I swear I didn’t, Nikola doesn’t even  _ **_like_ ** _ kids, why would I ever call him dad?” Albert asked, feeling oddly defensive and stressed. It didn’t make sense because Nikola  _ **_didn’t_ ** _ like kids, he was pretty open with his much disdain he felt for them, actually.  _

_ So why did he like the thought of Nikola being his dad so much?  _

_ “Albert, take a moment. If Nikola doesn’t like kids, then why does he like you?” Jung asked, speaking in that gentle tone he swore was only for him and Nikola. _

_ "I...I don't know,” Albert said, crossing his arms. It was petulant and childish of him, but he  _ **_was_ ** _ a child dammit! Jung and Nikola were the only two who seemed to acknowledge that, so he’d take his moments when he could.  _

_ “... Want to know what I think?” Jung said, leaning forward in his chair. He was staring at him, staring with that special look of affectionate exasperation that Albert was used to only seeing in Nikola’s eyes. “I think he doesn’t see you as  _ **_a_ ** _ child, but as  _ **_his_ ** _ child. That’s why he doesn’t like other children, but he likes you,” Jung explained, speaking so matter of factly. Like the revelation wasn’t sending Albert into a tizzy, because it was relieving and terrifying at the same time.  _

_ “Why would he want me?” Albert blurted out, wincing because that  _ **_really_ ** _ wasn’t the kind of question to ask during a therapy session. It seemed to confuse Jung, confused him enough that he stayed quiet for a moment. And god was Albert good at taking advantage of moments. “Seriously, why would he want me as his kid? I’m… I’m a total fuck up! I’m a copy of the guy he hated, and I can’t do much of anything right, and I always end of disappointing people!” he rambled, that tightness returning tenfold with every word he spoke.  _

_ They were true, every single one of them, and oh god how could Nikola ever think of him in such a way as he thought of him when Albert routinely fucked things up for everyone?  _

_ “Albert!” Jung snapped, speaking so suddenly and so roughly that it shocked him into silence. “You have  _ **_never_ ** _ disappointed me, and Nikola has never told me a  _ **_damn_ ** _ thing about you disappointing him, either,” he said. He was staring still, though the exasperation was something more intense now. Something that was determined and angry, but concerned and caring all at once.  _

_ “He… He hasn’t?” Albert asked, hating just how small and shaky his voice had gotten. Jung’s face softened, a little smile working onto his face as he nodded. _

_ “All he’s ever had to say about you have been good things, Albert,” he replied. He was sitting up again, eyes lit up in such a way that it eased some of the tension in Albert’s chest. “You should hear how he goes on about you! He talks about how you’ve grown, how you fight better and better each time there’s a mission, and…” he hesitated, leaving Albert the one leaning forward now.  _

_ “And what?” Albert asked, curiosity just eating away at him.  _

_ “And he talks about how much he cares for you, Albert. Nikola doesn’t like kids, but he likes  _ **_you_ ** _. He cares about  _ **_you_ ** _. He wants to see  _ **_you_ ** _ grow up and realize your full potential, to see  _ **_you_ ** _ become everything you don’t realize you’re capable of,” Jung continued.  _

_ And then Albert was crying. _

It was a difficult session. Jung called it a breakthrough session, and maybe he’d been right. His insistence that Nikola saw him as a son in the same way that he saw Nikola as a father… 

_ Hadn’t tonight only proved it true? _

The sudden revelation had Albert feeling things he couldn’t describe. Warm, almost frantic emotions that bubbled up and threatened to spillover at any given moment. It made sense! The abrupt anger, how quickly Nikola had shifted from nonviolence to violence, and all the damned little things he did to comfort him! Flying low to the ground, letting him hold his hand, even going so far as to bring him to Jung’s for the night…

_ Nikola had acted as any good father would.  _

Hell, he’d been acting that way for a while now! Albert took to pacing as he really mulled everything over. None of the others, not even Freud, had been so insistent on him receiving therapy as Nikola had been. He didn’t just recommend it, he took him back and forth from his sessions! He didn’t just do that, of course. Albert had once confessed that he loved being outside, but it wasn’t something Churchill allowed frequently. Suddenly, more of his sessions took place outdoors. 

Outdoors or in Jung’s library, a library filled with books that told wonderful stories that the other scientists would scoff at. A library that Albert easily got lost in, where therapy sessions “accidentally” ran over their allotted time while he coincidentally was able to finish whatever story he’d been reading when the session officially ended. Nikola had never once complained about staying late, had even come up with excuses for Churchill to explain their lateness away. 

_ Jung and Nikola both treated him better than anyone else ever did, and they did it without expecting anything in return.  _

Albert was only a little upset when Nikola happened along, though part of him was glad that he could see him again. He eventually allowed himself to be pulled from the library, his thoughts still racing as he got into his temporary bed. Jung was saying something about breakfast, making some silly little joke, and…

_ And he had never felt so at home as he was in that moment.  _

__  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	18. Collusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s not strong enough on his own, neither of them are, but together... 
> 
> Together they are a horrific masterpiece that can destroy anything and everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the Hero/Villain Unite Thing very literally!!! So this isn’t just a teamup Fic, it’s a Steven universe styled fusion Fic as well!!! I had too much fun writing this, can’t wait to finish it all up >:3

  
  
  


“Jung, listen to me-” Freud began, cut off when the younger man slapped him across the face. 

 

“How  _ dare  _ you ask me that!” Jung snapped, the blooming pain in his hand easy to ignore when he could hit Freud again. 

 

“Look, you know that we’re stronger as  _ him!  _ We don’t have time to call the others for backup, Jung. Albert is in serious danger, and he needs us  _ now,” _ Freud explained, one of his annoying little smirks working its way onto his face. He held out his hand, giving Jung a look so lecherous that it made him feel disgusted. 

 

“... Fine,” Jung spat out, taking Freud’s hand. He was suddenly yanked to the older man’s chest, eye to eye with London’s biggest bastard. He scowled at him, already hearing the violins start up in his head. 

 

“Follow my lead, then,” Freud said, gripping his wrist so tightly that Jung knew they’d be bruised come tomorrow. The piano kicked in as they began to dance, moving in sync to the music nobody else could hear. It was fluid, like something between well practiced lovers instead of enemies, and Jung despised it. He let out a startled cry when Freud dipped him with no warning, that damned smirk of his making everything so much worse. 

 

He could play along, though. He allowed his gaze to soften, let his hand move up to gently caress the older man’s cheek. The surprised look on Freud’s face was sweet, but the flash of anger was far sweeter when he raked his nails down the sensitive flesh. He was pulled back up as abruptly as he’d been dipped, an all consuming, all too familiar, fire raging in Freud’s eyes now. It was that lust for power and complete control. The music began to swell as they moved faster, Freud’s grip only tightening as they were enveloped in a blinding light.

 

_ The Three Eyed Beast had been awoken. _

 

The rush of emotion, emotion that wasn’t all Jung’s or Freud’s, was always the most startling thing about fusion. Second was appearance. With the left eye a honeyed brown and the right more muddy, it was a slight yet noticeable contrast. The third eye was what set him apart, though. It’s color was not static, instead constantly changing. It was a mix of the left and right eyes, a color that never seemed to properly blend. Instead, one would see the two colors end and begin rather distinctly. Momentarily, honeyed brown would surge and take over. The next, that earthen shade would overpower it. 

 

_ The Three Eyed Beast threw his head back and let out a discordant howl. _

 

Smoke billowed out, obscuring the ripples along his face as he struggled to remain stable. There was a brief moment where he thought he’d split apart at the seams, but then he was back under control and taking off after the robotic beast that had stolen Albert. Power surged through his body, power he hadn’t been able to feel in  _ years.  _ With a snarl, he felt the persona slip over the expanse of his face. Good. Albert would be frightened by his true self, a being based on selfishness, insatiable ego, instability, and repressed emotions. 

 

_ The Three Eyed Beast arrived at the makeshift camp where Albert was being kept. _

 

The terrified screams of the Nazis rang out around him, sounds that were the sweetest music to his ears. He was a monstrosity to see in motion, all gleaming teeth and shifting eyes that never settled on any one thing for long. Standing at five stories tall, with teeth that measured a yard long and sharp points like that of butcher knives, he was formidable. One of the clones had raised his gun, though the bullets he fired did little against the defense mechanism he threw up. The right eye darted back and forth, sweeping the ground until it landed on a terrified, white haired boy. 

 

_ There. _

 

The ground shook as he moved through the camp, quickly closing the distance between him and Albert. His third eye was open wide, a haze of purple and pink smoke beginning to spread throughout the camp as the eye began to glow. Something innate and buried deep within his unconscious mind whispered to Albert to shy away from the light. Bound as tightly as he was, it was a struggle to squirm away from it, but he managed to hide his face at just the right time. 

 

_ It was as if an atomic bomb had went off.  _

 

The light was beyond blinding, something unholy that left the Nazis begging for the pain to end. Albert cowered, the horrified screams soon turning to a deafening silence. Maybe that was the ringing in his ears, maybe they actually had fallen silent. He didn’t know and didn’t want to open his eyes to find out. The ground began to shake once more as something much too tall and much too powerful advanced on him. 

 

Those eyes that never stilled were trained on the small boy, with the third eye finally beginning to settle down. It seemed as though the colors were blending, mixing evenly if for only a second. Then the muddied color took over. The persona slipped away, revealing skin that rippled and fought to break free. 

 

_ The Three Eyed Beast fell apart at the seams. _

 

Freud’s landing could have been more graceful, but all things considered, he had bigger concerns. He rushed forward, swearing under his breath as he plucked a ring of keys off a nearby Nazi body. They shook in his hands, rattling loudly as he tried to get the metal bounds undone. He wanted  _ out.  _ Wanted to get Albert out and get out of here, away from Jung. Faraway as he could, far enough he’d never see him again because everything  _ hurt.  _

 

Jung’s face was impassive, a blank canvas that betrayed none of the whirling emotions held just below the surface. Freud had seen it all in that last moment, in that attempt to take full control. He’d gotten it, of course, but in ways he couldn’t imagine. He was angry, beyond angry, because he’d held everything in for  _ so  _ long, only to have that stolen away. 

 

“... Now you know,” Jung hissed. Freud’s attempt to free Albert paused, then continued as if he hadn’t spoken. The silence only served to infuriate Jung, and he stepped up to Albert. “Oncover your face. It’s okay now,” he said, voice tight and words clipped in a way that made Freud wince. Slowly, Albert turned to face them and opened his eyes. 

 

Jung shoved Freud off to the side, snatching the keys away with some mutterance about him being useless in this state. His own hands shook far less, though Albert still saw that slight tremble as he tried key after key. One finally fit, a subtle click ringing out as the bounds fell away from his hands. The ones on his legs came off soon after, and Jung dusted himself off before he hoisted Albert up off the ground. 

 

“... What was that?” Albert asked, unsteady on his legs after being tied up for so long. “What was  _ any  _ of that?” he pressed, feeling his voice begin to shake because that had been so  _ scary.  _ And then he made a mistake. Albert took one look at the Nazis and thought he might pass out after all. Their eyes... They were gone! Blood and thin ocular fluid trickled down their faces like nightmarish tears. Their faces were twisted up in horror, frozen forever in that position like an animal mounted on the wall.    
  
“What did you two do?” he whispered, turning back to Jung and Freud. Jung looked at the bodies, not even a flicker of emotion crossing his impassive face. Freud turned away, as a full body shudder ran through him despite the June heat.    
  
“We did what we had to, Albert,” Jung finally said, snatching Freud’s communicator from his back pocket. He was lucky it hadn’t been damaged, all things considered. He dialed up Tapputi, a scowl twisting at his face as he waited for her to answer. 

 

“You better have a good reason for calling me during tea with Marie, Freud!” Tapputi snapped, her eyes widening as she realized who she was talking to. “Uh… You’re not Freud. Why the hell did you use his communicator, Jung?” she asked, throwing up an eyebrow as she took in his disheveled appearance.

 

“I’m sending you our coordinates, Tapputi. There was an attack, the Nazis ambushed us. Meet us in the Science Mobile, and…” he trailed off, wracking his mind for whatever else could be needed. “Bring Nikola too, please,” he whispered. It was desperate, so very  _ desperate  _ of him to ask, but he needed comforting blue eyes and gentle hands that knew not to push too hard. Tapputi didn’t reply, only nodded before she hung up the call. With a few clicks, their location was sent off. 

 

_ Jung was so very tired _ .

 

He stumbled over to a chair, nearly fell into it as the weight of it all hit him. Freud still refused to look at him, chose instead to busy himself by searching the camp for… For  _ something.  _ Anything that would make the sudden attack make sense! Anything that would keep him distracted from stormy nights with howling winds-

 

“Look!” Albert called, pointing at a familiar portal. Never before had Freud been so relieved to see the Science Mobile show up, though he wasn’t looking forward to the questions she’d have. She’d even brought Nikola! How smart of her, it would’ve been a disaster to get stranded without the team’s battery. Then Nikola was rushing over, eyes wide and panicked as he pulled Albert into a hug. 

 

“Moj dečko, are you alright?” he asked, pulling away to inspect his little one. “Tapputi said the Nazis attacked, did they…” he began, trailing off as he took in the sight of a hundred or so bodies. Nikola’s face became as white as Albert’s hair, because  _ god  _ there was no way the three of them alone had managed such a horrific thing as this. 

 

“... Motherfucker,” Tapputi snapped, glaring at Freud from inside the car. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” she yelled, trying to mask the nervous shake in her voice as anger or annoyance. 

 

_ What the fuck had those two done? _

 

The four followed in line after that command, piling into the Science Mobile. Freud sat up in front with Tapputi while Nikola, Jung, and Albert all crowded together in the back row. Albert was sandwiched between the two, looking so terribly small in comparison to them, but it was… Really nice. Especially nice since they didn’t seem to mind holding his hands. 

 

It was second nature for Nikola by now, something he did with little to no thought. Physical contact soothed Albert, he didn’t mind the physical contact, and it just made sense to go along with it when he asked for it. Jung was… Admittedly surprised by how quickly Albert reached for his hand. He was even more surprised when he actually took the boy’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. He supposed the simple action helped to comfort the both of them after the trauma that was the Three-Eyed Beast. 

 

“... What was his name?” Albert asked, snapping Jung out of his reverie.   
  
“What?” he replied, looking down at the boy with confusion written in his exhausted eyes. Nikola looked every bit as confused as he did, several questions already on the tip of his tongue.    
  
“Your fusion, the guy you and Freud made. What’s he named?” Albert elaborated. Freud stiffened in the front seat, shooting Tapputi a nervous glance before he went back to staring out the window. Nikola’s eyes had widened slightly, his grip on Albert’s hand tightening a moment before he forced himself to relax.    
  
“He’s just... The Three-Eyed Beast, Albert,” Jung said. “Something like that doesn’t deserve some cutesy name like Tapwin, or whatever else you’d call a team fusion,” he added, speaking hastily before Albert even had the chance to protest.    
  
“... Oh,” Albert finally whispered, a shudder ran through him at the thought of... Of the Three-Eyed Beast. “Yeah, he was... Scary,” he admitted. He’d pulled his feet up onto the seat, something Tapputi would usually scold him for, but she let it slide this once. Poor kid had been kidnapped and then had to deal with the Three-Eyed Beast making an appearance. Far as her opinion mattered, he had earned the right to sit in the backseat however he’d like.    
  
“If you two hate each other so much, how’s fusion even possible?” Albert asked, staring up at Jung again. It was a question Nikola had began to ponder as well, if he was to be honest.    
  
“I wouldn’t say I  _ hate  _ Freud,” Jung was quick to say, looking at the older man in the front seat. Quite the opposite, if he was to be completely honest with himself. Why wouldn’t he be honest? Freud’s little quest for power and control had let him know  _ everything.  _ Jung had no other cards up his sleeve at that point. Everything was laid out on the table.    
  
“We lack compatibility,” Freud answered. He was still staring out the window, pretending he couldn’t see Jung’s eyes trying to catch his. “The fusion isn’t stable, but when necessary... We can stay together for a bit,” he explained.    
  
“But that doesn’t make sense, Marie Curie said there had to be  _ something  _ there for a fusion to work at all,” Albert protested. Freud pinched the bridge of his nose, quickly tiring of the questions.    
  
“Adult relationships are complex, Albert. There’s much more to it than either hating someone or not hating them,” Jung said, giving the kid a weak, half hearted smile. “Sometimes there is that  _ something  _ there, but that something isn’t always... Healthy,” he said, giving a little shrug of his shoulders. It caught Nikola’s attention, his eyes finding the other man’s and asking a single question.

 

_ Are you okay? _

 

Jung found himself blinking away tears rather suddenly, giving the other all the answer he needed. He just leaned back against the seat, let his eyes close, and reminded himself to breathe. Breathing was difficult, though, when a tidal wave of repressed feelings hit him. He’d spent so many years just  _ burying  _ it all, keeping it his great big dirty secret, and now it was all  _ gone _ . Freud knew everything, had seen  _ everything _ . 

 

_ And it wasn’t fair because Jung had never wanted to share that with anyone. _

 

His moments of weakness were supposed to be his and his alone, dammit! He was supposed to decide when and who to tell, if he ever did. It wasn’t supposed to be ripped away from him like that, taken so cruelly and roughly just to… To have one over him! 

 

“Jung, you gonna be alright if I drop you off at yours?” Tapputi asked, breaking him from his thoughts once more. That… Had been fast. He still wasn’t used to the Science Mobile’s ability to travel through time and space. 

 

“Da- Nikola and I can stay if you’d like! Keep you company, fix up some tea, um…” Albert began, going red in the face as he trailed off. Why was he so excited to spend time with Jung and Nikola? And why did he keep slipping up with Nikola’s name? 

 

“If Jung is okay with that, then I’d have no complaint about staying,” Nikola added, shooting the man a cautious little grin. They had a lot to talk about, more than would be appropriate to discuss over the telephone. 

 

“... Okay,” Jung said, an odd relief washing over him. The prospect of staying alone after fusing with Freud wasn’t one he much cared for, if he was to be entirely honest with himself. They left the car, Albert already chattering on excitedly about… Something. Didn’t really matter to Tapputi as to what it was, just mattered that he was smiling and that he had the other two smiling too. 

 

“... Kid’s too good for us, Sigmund,” she said, shifting gears before she started back towards the Clock Tower. “Too good to have seen  _ him _ ,” she elaborated. Freud winced, his eyes catching her own disapproving ones for a moment before he forced himself to look away. 

 

“I know,” Freud whispered. “Oh  _ god _ , believe me. I know he’s too good for us-too good for  _ me- _ he deserves  _ better _ ,” he said, catching Tapputi off guard because… 

 

“You’re not talking about Albert, are you?” she asked, gravelly voice softening slightly before the jump through space. Maybe it was because the very fabric of the universe was being bent, but she could’ve sworn she saw Freud’s eyes get a glassy, faraway look to them. Then they were back at the Clock Tower, and Freud’s eyes were their usual, cool earthy tone. “What did you see?” she pressed, turning to face Freud properly. 

 

“... I saw his balcony. I saw… Dark thunderclouds and felt the rain pelt my skin.  _ His  _ skin. I-” Freud broke off, speaking difficult when there was a terrible lump in his throat he couldn’t seem to rid himself of. “He wanted to  _ jump  _ because of me,” he confessed. Tapputi’s eyes widened and she felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest, a familiar ache that had never seemed to fully fade over the centuries.

 

“What did you  _ do? _ ” Tapputi asked, the question an accusation Freud couldn’t bear to hear. It made his skin crawl and his head pound because-

 

“I  _ took  _ control. I just… I wanted to know what he knew, Tapputi. I wanted to see what he saw, and I…” Freud found himself trailing off again, guilt he wasn’t used to feeling bubbling and spilling over. Spilling from his eyes, carving tracks down his face and leaving his whole body shaking.

 

“You got more than you bargained for, huh?” Tapputi said, the gravel back in her voice. Her own ancient eyes were full of tears, because damn if she wasn’t an empathetic crier! “You finally pushed too hard, too far, and it backfired. You know things you’d wished you’d never been able to know, don’t you?” she snapped. Snapped because Freud was a bastard, a bastard that she was supposed to be able to connect with and respect! 

 

“He… Loved me,” Freud said, hesitating because that wasn’t quite true. Some part of Jung still loved him, though he’d never understand how or why he’d loved him to begin with. The sharp bark of laughter from Tapputi shocked him enough that his head jerked up, his eyes locking with hers again. 

 

“No shit, Sherlock! You’re talking to someone who knows how to make herself look like the person someone else desires the most, this isn’t news to me,” Tapputi drawled, rolling her eyes at the scandalized look on Freud’s face. “Good news is that he’s moving on, and doesn’t seem to need you like you still need him,” she explained. Then Freud really did look scandalized, though she knew she was right by the underlying terror in his wide eyes. 

 

_ “Jung really does deserve better than you, Sigmund. Seems like he’s found that someone better too.” _

 

____

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	19. Kids in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Carver couldn’t help but wonder how they’d all ended up left behind in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi this is two days late and it’s sorta shit but considering I know nothing about these people I’m proud of what I managed (especially Carver and Mendel being plant buddies, that’s.., good)

__

They spent a lot of time talking, speaking in hushed tones amongst themselves in the basement of the Clock Tower. Cori and Carver both did the best they could to keep the others hopeful, to keep morale up between the rare times Churchill called upon their strengths, but god was it hard. For all the whispered words of encouragement he gave to the others, Carver himself was prone to those moments where he felt without purpose in this terrible war of the world.

 

Cori was self assured in her power, in her ability to break the body down on a molecular level and make her enemies howl in anguish before they passed. To see her in action was a haunting sort of beauty, to watch as the human body turned against itself as it burnt every last bit of energy stored in fat and muscle. It was no flashy radiation ring, but proved to be just as good as anything the Super Science Friends could dish out. Her powers were  _ deadly,  _ deadly in a way none of the others were. It was frustrating to see how she was left off the Super Science Friends team to be with them. 

 

Cori always insisted, though, that her worth to the team had less to do with her powers and more to do with her spirit. It was a notion that Carver was inclined to agree with, particularly in his moments of doubt. She was always quick to smile, even as bombs fell over London and sirens rang out their warnings of death. When the lights would dim above, her wavering voice would fill the basement with some song of tomorrow, of a promise to stay with them even in the dark. It was a comfort to them all in those moments of fear. 

 

Especially to poor Lemaître, giant teddy bear that he was. Unlike the others, he had been directly involved in the Great War. He’d fought in the trenches as a young man, seen horrors that haunted him still in his nightmares. Looming green clouds of chlorine driven forward by the winds, the sheer panic that would fill even the calmest of soldiers at the very sight of those deadly clouds, and  _ god  _ the way the men died! Their last rasping, desperate attempt to breathe before their lungs and heart gave out…

 

Lemaître envied that this new world war was the only experience the others would ever have with something so ghastly. He wished he could explain to them why he often shut down during the bombings, why he could only close his eyes and pray for divine intervention. He’d been through enough already, hadn’t he? He was the only one that Churchill had been able to contact in the present, the only one who hadn’t been pulled from the distant past into an unrecognizable future. 

 

No. The offer to join the A Ok Friends has come when Lemaître was at his lowest, when he’d been recovering in the hospital from an attack by German Panzers. When his mind was still reeling from the shock of it all, from seeing the beloved Louvain burn to the ground and fellow colleagues hauled away as prisoners by the damned Germans. As the nurse tended to his contusions and made him promises of a full physical recovery, a sharply dressed man had entered the room. 

 

Lemaître had recognized him right away as the short bastard running England, the man who continued fighting in the war with a group of superpowered scientists. He knew what he was there to offer, knew that he didn’t want to fight in another war against the Germans, but Churchill made him an offer that was hard to refuse. So he’d joined up with the A Ok’s, the backup team who worked rarely and spent most of their time in the safety of London. At least, that’s how it had begun. 

 

Now bombs fell on London nightly, leaving Lemaître feeling as if he were back in the trenches again. Stranded as that deadly green cloud rolled in, unable to find his mask and keep himself safe. Then Cori would sing her lovely promise of eventual peace, and even if only for a brief moment, it all cleared from his mind. Knowing Gerty Cori, he had decided, was perhaps the one good thing that had come from him joining the A Ok’s. Well, that and the fact that Churchill was able to provide him with specially tailored clothing as his power caused him to slowly grow. 

 

Mendel also helped during the nighttime bombings, though he refused to sing with Cori. Instead, he would use his shapeshifting powers to turn into a large lavender plant that filled the basement with its soothing smell. It was a subtle sort of help, one befitting of the man in question. He was anxious, a quiet sort of man who kept to himself most of the time. One who fell sick easily, yet one who refused to stop working just because of illness. Even if Churchill didn’t call on them, Mendel still had his little garden to tend to! 

 

It was the one thing he had now, the one luxury Churchill had offered the team outside of shelter and food. It was something that kept him steady and grounded, watching as small seeds or bulbs were able to bloom and produce new life. Amidst all the destruction and death he caused, it was a great comfort to know that he was still able to bring about  _ something  _ good and pure. If anything, it gave him reason to speak with Carver. 

 

The garden was theirs to share, hands and cheeks streaked with the fertile soil they coaxed life from. Mendel would share stories of his time at the monastery, of his initial studies with pea plants. How surprised he’d been when Carver had spoken excitedly about his experiments! While he’d always known that his discoveries would be appreciated at some point, it was still news to him that they’d traveled as far as they had. After all, Carver was all the way from America! 

 

It was something else to talk with him, to listen as Carver did what he did best. The man was a gifted speaker, the sort who could capture anyone’s attention and hold it throughout the conversation. Perhaps it was something he wasn’t aware of, but Mendel was resolute in his belief that Carver himself was more important to the team than his powers were. While it was certainly interesting to see enemies with peanut allergies recoil in shock and scream bloody murder when Carver used his powers, that wasn’t where his real talent was.

 

It was in his gentle way of speaking, the manner in which he led their group and brokered better treatment from Churchill. Carver might’ve been of the impression that he kept things under wraps, but he was mistaken. Mendel noticed the way he looked at Cori, a dull sort of envy in his eyes because she was the most secure of them all. Not just in her powers, no, but in her position. While Carver was their leader, Cori was the glue that helped them all stay together.

 

Mendel wished he could make Carver understand that he held the team together just as much as Cori did. He wished for many things in this time of chaos, none of which ever seemed to come true. Not yet, at least. It seemed almost trivial to want to help Carver feel better about his place when war raged outside their doorstep, when Archimedes’ calculated millions of lives to be lost before the war could be won. 

 

Mendel didn’t like to think about Archimedes or what he knew, that unnatural knowledge he was privy to that made everything much too real. While the mathematician did his best to keep the mood light, throwing out utterly ridiculous calculations during the Blitz in an attempt to get the others laughing, his notebooks were filled with frantically scribbled notes. Notes that told of death unending, of great seas of blood that would be on the hands of a few politicians and scientists. 

 

_ None of them liked to think about that. _

 

Then there was Pasteur, a rather… Interesting member. While the team didn’t boast a psychic like the Super Science Friends, Pasteur seemed to be as adept at traumatizing enemies as Freud was. Despite having a power that just towed the line between completely nonsensical and somewhat practical, he proved to be quite the asset in battle. Not just with his odd power, no, but with his fighting skills. He and Lemaître, both somewhat limited to physical prowess, ended up making a rather competent duo that could handle fights on their own. 

 

And when the bombs fell at night, Pasteur was quick to join in with Archimedes with idiotic hypotheses. Cori would sing her song of a tomorrow where bombs didn’t fall like rain, Mendel would fill the room with the calming scent of lavender, Archimedes threw out numbers that made no sense, Pasteur would ponder the possibility of Mendel being able to shift into other herbs that could soothe the soul, Lemaître only shook as the lights dimmed, and Carver wondered where he was to be in it all. 

 

_ They were the ones left alone in the dark, brought together by tragedy but bound through a shared hope that tomorrow might be a better day.  _

  
  
  
  
  



	20. It’s Not Easy Being Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short and cute!! Just Buff Curie enjoying music

  
  


Curie had few things that brought her pleasure these days. Wandering the wastelands with Tapputi and the others got boring quickly, even if she did her best to tell story after story about her past adventures. Curie appreciated the efforts she made, efforts the others didn’t see the value in due to her current state. Though unable to speak, Curie still felt everything she’d felt before. She just had issue expressing it now! And then they found an old, beat up banjo while traveling. 

 

Though she had no real experience with music or with instruments, and certainly wasn’t able to sing along to anything, Curie found herself rather taken by the rustic sounds the strings produced. Albert had experience with his guitar, so he was able to show her how to tune the instrument and point out the different chords. From that point on, Curie found herself picking at the strings absentmindedly whenever she’d get bored during their travels. 

 

And as most people do, she only improved with time! It only took a month or two of daily practice for her to actually be able to play a couple songs, though she still left the singing to the others. While Darwin and Albert harmonized around the campfire, she would grin her toothy grin as she strummed along. It was fun, something simple that helped the team stay distracted while they fought in the war. 

 

_ And lord knew Curie needed every distraction she could find during this hellish wartime.  _


	21. Something Entirely New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when two become one? When an unlikely friendship deepens and becomes something more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got way too tired at the very end and gave up tbh, but I’m still really proud of this chapter since it’s the longest chapter for SSJ!!’ And since it’s the first time I’ve written Jesla into my canon!!!!!!

  
  


Albert was chattering away, a great big smile lighting up his face as they walked up to the clinic. It was contagious, soon spreading to Nikola and Jung’s face as they listened to the energetic kid talk. 

 

“-and we could have a sleepover tonight! Mr. Jung could read me some of his old myths, tell me about all the supernatural creatures and stuff!” Albert exclaimed, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited for Jung to unlock the clinic. The two adults were laughing quietly, bringing warmth to his face because he just  _ loved  _ seeing them both be happy. Especially when it was because of him. None of the other adults in the Super Science Friends humored his antics as much as Nikola and Jung did. None of them were as… As  _ nice.  _

 

Albert really liked it when the three were able to hang out. There was even some vague, distant dream of his for after the war. After the fighting was over and everyone was able to go back to their families… 

 

_ Albert hoped Nikola and Jung would let him be part of their little family.  _

 

Then they were walking into the clinic, heading through the back and up the stairs to Jung’s home. A silence, warm and comfortable, had settled over them as they walked. Albert was  _ tired _ . He tried to stifle a yawn but it wasn’t unnoticed by the adults, a shared glance between the two sealing his fate.

 

“Albert, perhaps we should rest,” Nikola suggested, wrapping an arm around his kid’s shoulders. “It has been a very long day for you, hasn’t it? Some rest would do you very well,” he explained, speaking in that tone that fell just between gentle and firm. 

 

“I believe Nikola is right. It’s been a rather long day for you-for both of us-and a quick nap would be nice,” Jung said, nodding in agreement. Albert… Loved and hated the idea of a nap. Naps were for kids, he wasn’t a kid, but oh god a nap sounded so great right now! “I can read you one of the old myths, too,” he added, grinning down at the kid. 

 

“... Do you still have a pair of my pajamas?” Albert asked, resigning himself to taking an afternoon nap. It seemed like Jung would take one too, so that made him feel a bit less childish about it all. 

 

“Freshly laundered after the last visit!” Jung promised, leading them both along to the laundry room. While Nikola fussed with the clothes baskets, Jung busied himself with finding an appropriate storybook for Albert. He seemed to adore myths of every sort, from Greek to Egyptian to Native American. His fingers trailed along the spines of old books, his eyes lighting up when he found his  _ favorite  _ collection. He hurried back to the little guest room that had become Nikola and Albert’s, the once sparsely decorated space now filled with posters and odd little tinker toys Nikola built. 

 

Albert had already settled into bed, nothing more than a head of fluffy, white hair poking out above the duvet. He looked sleepy before, but now that he was nestled in cool sheets and comfortable pajamas… He didn’t bother trying to stifle his yawn this time, eyelids drooping before Jung even began to speak. Nikola found himself lingering in the doorway, a content smile settling on his face as Jung wove together a tale of forbidden love. 

 

“Once upon a time, there lived seven beautiful goddesses. One night they traveled to our world so that they might play in a moonlit lake,” Jung began, speaking softly as he flipped through the book. “This lake was right outside the home of Niulang, a simple cowherd who lived his life with no mate. The seven goddesses had silvery laughs that rang out across the lake, waking Niulang from his sleep,” he said. Albert nodded slowly, already beginning to drift off. “Niulang took one look at the goddesses, at Zhinu in particular, and both were instantly smitten. The Goddess of Heaven could never allow her daughter to marry a mortal man, though, so she brought them back into Heaven and forbade the two from seeing each other,” he said. 

 

Nikola was sure he listened more than Albert did now, seeing as the young lad was fighting to stay awake. It was endearing in a way he couldn’t describe, watching the small kid try to stay up just that little bit longer. He moved into the room, taking up the spot behind Jung as he read over his shoulder. 

 

“Niulang found himself so heartbroken without his love that he begged the night skies for a chance to see her once more. Niulang’s ox suddenly began to speak, and told the upset man that he could visit Heaven if he slew the ox and wore his hide,” Nikola said, causing Jung to startle at his sudden presence. He looked up, a matching grin on his face that made Nikola’s heart flutter. 

 

“And so Niulang slew his ox and began the long journey through Heaven. It took him many days and nights to finally reach the Palace of the Goddess, but when he did, he was delighted to see Zhinu once more. That delight quickly turned to horror as a river began to grow between the two, separating them on opposite ends of the sky,” Jung said, feeling his face warm as Nikola settled on the edge of the bed next to him.

 

“Niulang and the six sister goddesses spent the next several months begging the Goddess to allow him to see his darling Zhinu again. So moved was she by their impassioned plea that she allowed them to meet for one night a year, every seventh day of the seventh month. Once the night came, magpies flew up into the heavens to form a bridge across the celestial river,” Nikola explained, feeling his breath catch when Jung’s hand found his. He was sure he hadn’t been fidgeting, yet… 

 

“The two lovers embraced, weeping tears both joyous and bitter at their brief reunion. These tears fell to the earth as rain, spreading their beautiful melancholy to all below. Indeed, even the magpies seemed to cry at the display of love,” Jung whispered, realizing that Albert had fallen asleep already. Nikola’s head was resting lightly on his shoulder, though, and he found himself unwilling to disturb him just yet.

 

“This continued for seven years, the Goddess’ icy heart finally succumbing to the wishes of her children as she wiped the river away. Zhinu and Niulang met in the middle of Heaven, falling into each other’s arms as they whispered sweet promises to never part again. And so, if one looks into the heavens on a clear night, it is said they might see a star that shines far brighter than any of the others. This is because it isn’t just one star, it is two stars that refuse to part with the other until their dying breath,” Nikola finished, letting out a happy little sigh as Jung shut the book. 

 

The two parted and stood, Nikola hesitating a moment as he looked his son over. He leaned over and brushed his hair away from his face, smiling as the boy stirred slightly. 

 

“Goodnight, mala zvezda,” he whispered, straightening back up before he turned to go. 

 

“G’night Dad…” Albert mumbled, turning over before he fell back asleep. Nikola felt his face heat up, his throat suddenly feeling tight as unknown emotion welled up in his chest. 

 

“Goodnight, son,” he said, voice only shaking a little as he spoke. Nikola hurried out of the room, Jung close behind him with a wide grin on his face. 

 

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ve made a lovely father so far,” he teased, finally catching up to the man. Nikola whirled around to face him, smile all wobbling as tears slid down his cheeks. 

 

“I’d like to think so too, Jung. I… I really hope I’m doing better for him,” Nikola admitted, sniffling as he wiped at his eyes. Was he supposed to feel this happy? This relieved? He wasn’t sure what feelings were and weren’t appropriate, seeing as this wasn’t an experience he had ever expected to come across in his lifetime. Jung’s face was soft now, no teasing tone to his voice.

 

“You’ve done more for Albert than anyone else would consider, Nikola. You’ve given him a family, a true family that he knows he can  _ always  _ trust,” Jung said, speaking so earnestly that it made Nikola’s soul ache. He seemed to be so sure of his ability to raise a boy in such a frightening world… 

 

“I… I want his family to be better, Jung. I want to be a father to him that I wished for as a confused and lonely child. He deserves so much more than this life he’s been forced into, and I don’t… What if I can’t do it alone?” Nikola asked, an edge of panic in his voice now. It wasn’t as if he’d had the model father figure growing up, he sure as hell hadn’t taught him how to be a loving father! 

 

“You aren’t alone, Nikola!  _ I’m  _ here for Albert-for you-anytime help is needed. I know my family was far from perfect, but I…” Jung found himself trailing off, wracking his mind for the right words to say. “But I  _ know  _ that I’m better-that we’re  _ both  _ better-than those who came before us!” he exclaimed. He had taken Nikola’s hands in his own again, excitement and confidence shining so brightly in his eyes that Nikola wondered if he’d ever be able to stop staring at them. 

 

Nikola found himself laughing, hushed little giggles as he pulled Jung into a tight embrace. 

 

“Together, then?” he asked, feeling a strange warmth begin in his hands. 

 

“Together,” Jung promised, eyes widening slightly as they were bathed in a soft, gentle light. 

 

For a moment, they were one person. One jumbled mess of emotions that Nikola could suddenly name with a startling clarity. One collection of memories flitting through their mind like the world’s strangest picture show. 

 

And then they fell apart, though they still clutched at the other almost desperately. Nikola’s eyes were wide and filled with confusion, hands shaking before they found Jung’s again. There was a look of terror displayed so openly on Jung’s face, panic filling his honeyed eyes because-

 

_ “Because I’ve never fused with someone,” Nikola admitted, fingers drumming against the countertop absentmindedly. Jung looked over at the man, unable to mask his surprise as he stepped away from the oven.  _

 

_ “You haven’t?” he asked, wiping his flour covered hands off on the little apron Albert and Tapputi had made him. “Not even with your teammates?” he pressed, sitting across from Nikola at the little island bar in his kitchen.  _

 

_ “Heavens no! I barely like speaking to them most of the time, there’s no way I could ever be comfortable enough to… To join bodies and minds!” Nikola spluttered, sounding oddly offended at the notion of him fusing at all. “... Not that Tapputi hasn’t tried more than once to convince me to give it a shot with her,” he muttered, covering his mouth to stifle a giggle as Jung’s face twisted up.  _

 

_ “I’d hate to imagine the sort of dance she’d want to try. I bet it’d be as bad as Freud’s!” Jung teased, watching with delight as Nikola’s face darkened. “Oh Tesla, won’t you tango with me?” he crooned, holding his hand out before he burst into his own little giggle fit.  _

 

_ “Oh hush! As if I’d ever tango with anyone… You know I prefer the waltz!” Nikola said, no longer able to hide his own laughter.  _

 

_ “Any dance you’d prefer, Nikola! Any excuse to be close to you!” Jung cried, now throwing his hand across his forehead dramatically before he swooned. Nikola was clutching at his sides, barely able to get air into his lungs as he wheezed. Jung’s impersonation was terrible! His attempt at Tapputi’s voice sounded as good as Albert’s attempts to sound macho!  _

 

_ “You’re a fool, Carl Jung! A fool indeed if you think I’d ever dance with someone wearing such a messy apron!” Nikola said, though he had to admit the idea of dancing with Jung was rather… Nice.  _

 

“... I didn’t know that’s what it felt like,” Nikola said, a certain breathiness to his voice that had Jung’s head reeling. 

 

“That’s  _ never  _ how it feels,” Jung admitted, swallowing around the lump that had appeared in his throat. “It felt…” he began, trailing off as he shuddered slightly. 

 

“Good?” Nikola ventured, sounding so suddenly meek as he looked at the other man in his arms. 

 

“Yes. Yes! Good and so… So  _ warm,”  _ Jung said, feeling his face turning red at the excited tremor in his voice. “You… Let me stay in control?” he asked, brows furrowing. 

 

“It wasn’t exactly like I could think to take control! I was still trying to figure out what I was feeling and seeing!” Nikola said. His own face seemed to warm, matching the flush that had spread so quickly across Jung’s face. “... What  _ we  _ were feeling?” he suggested, quirking up an eyebrow. 

 

“Yes and no. We… It _ was  _ us, but at the same time he was… Someone entirely new,” Jung said, picking each word carefully. “I’ve never felt like that when fusing with anyone. So damned  _ warm  _ and like I was full of energy,” he rambled, looking down at their intertwined hands. 

 

“For what it’s worth, I’ve never had a third eye. Or been so  _ close  _ to someone,” Nikola said, finding himself quite breathless as he looked at Jung. “... Is it normal to want to try again?” he asked.

 

“I never… I haven’t wanted to try again until now. How did we even…?” Jung trailed off, words caught in his throat when he found Nikola to be staring at him so openly. 

 

“We’re supposed to dance, aren’t we?” Nikola asked, hesitating before he moved Jung’s free hand to rest at his waist. His own settled on the other man’s shoulder, the simple movement pulling them that much closer together. 

 

“With me in the lead?” Jung teased, unable to help himself as the two began to sway. The most beautiful piano music they’d ever heard started up, Nikola’s eyes widening in delight as the sound filled his mind. 

 

“You can’t expect me to lead, I’ve never danced like this before,” Nikola said, surprised when the gentle strumming of a guitar joined the piano. “... Is there supposed to be music?” he asked, stumbling slightly as Jung twirled him around. 

 

“Yes! I’ve… Never heard this piece before, though. Can you play piano?” Jung asked, stepping back in time with Nikola. 

 

“I can! Does that mean you play guitar?” Nikola asked, their pace quickening slightly as they fell in step together. 

 

“A bit, yes. It helps me relax,” Jung said, his hand moving from Nikola’s waist to the small of his back. He dipped him slowly, their noses bumping from just how close they were. There was that light again, enveloping their hands and making him feel so damned  _ warm.  _ Then everything was warm, warm and ever so perfect because Nikola had moved his hand from his shoulder to tangle his fingers up in Jung’s hair before he  _ kissed  _ him. 

 

Then they were someone entirely new again, someone tall and absolutely giddy with being able to exist once more. He was more stable this time, stable enough to actually be able to move down the hall. He needed to see what he looked like! The bedroom-Jung’s-at the end of the hall had a full length mirror he would make good use of… 

 

He couldn't help but marvel at himself in the mirror, surprised to find his left eye was honeyed brown while the right was a lovely pale blue. It was the third eye that really enchanted him, hidden under fluffy, dark brown hair that refused to stay in one place for too long. 

 

_ It was one color. _

 

It was a cool, even grey. He’d never seen the third eye look so… So  _ calm.  _ He reached out to the mirror, a smile crossing his face as the color stayed the same. He giggled as he hugged himself tightly, swaying slightly from side to side as he just… 

 

_ Just loved being himself. _

 

And  _ oh  _ wasn’t that so very new and exciting? To love being together, being someone that hadn’t existed up until now! It was an experience like no other, an amazing, beautiful experience that he wanted to last forever! Especially since he could  _ feel  _ so many lovely things, so much of that gentle warmth he’d felt earlier. It ran a bit deeper than that, though. It was more than just a warm and fuzzy feeling that made him grin, it was… 

 

“You… Love me?” he whispered, staring at the mirror as a rosy flush spread across his face.

 

“And you love me too?” he asked, right hand moving up to brush against his face. There was silence, a silence answered only by the way he felt his heart  _ soar.  _ He couldn’t help but giggle again, the sound silvery and filling the room with its musical quality. The memory reel started up again, showing all those lovely little moments where it was now so  _ obvious  _ that they’d been in love.

 

_ Holding hands during therapy, the feeling of Jung’s quickening heartbeat against Nikola’s palm, reaching out desperately for someone- _

 

The color in the third eye rippled, a frown crossing his face when that memory was quickly shoved away. 

 

_ Reading stories to Albert by candlelight, taking turns as they played different roles, joking in the kitchen together while Jung baked, the haunting smell of cigar smoke late at night- _

 

The third eye’s color wasn’t grey anymore. It wasn’t even one color now! The honeyed brown and pale blue were distinctly separate, though the blue was being drowned out by the brown. 

 

_ Crying all alone in the night, helpless against the memories that flooded his mind in those moments of weakness, and the way the wind howled in his ears when he’d stand out on the balcony- _

 

Jung pulled himself away, causing the fusion to fall apart. He felt… So  _ small.  _ His breathing wasn’t as it was supposed to be, eyes wide and darting around the room like a caged animal would. 

 

“Nikola, I-I’m so sorry-” he began, choking back a pitiful sob when Nikola hugged him. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t how I’d wanted to tell you, oh god I’m so  _ sorry _ ,” he whispered, holding him tightly, desperately as he began to shake. 

 

“You’re okay, it’s okay Jung. I’m  _ here _ ,” Nikola said, now the one to murmur hushed words of encouragement. It was strange to find himself in such an unfamiliar position. Strange, yet natural. He found that comforting Jung in this manner came to him quite easily, given his experience in the matter. 

 

“...Isn’t this supposed to be my job? Jung asked, a slight rasp to his voice that he couldn’t seem to clear away. “You shouldn’t have to be the one that’s bothered with my issues,” he said. It was all just so… So odd. To be the one seeking comfort in such a way, as opposed to usually being the one that gave such comfort away so easily. 

 

“Didn’t someone once tell me that sharing my thoughts and experiences weren’t a bother to him because we were friends?” Nikola asked. Jung let out a little snort, a wry grin tugging at his lips. 

 

“Friends, eh? Is that what you’d call the two of us?” Jung asked, pulling away slightly so he could properly look at Nikola in the eye. 

 

“Would you rather I call the both of us fools?” Nikola suggested, lips twitching up into a little smirk. 

 

“If I’m to be completely honest, then yes! It’s a much more apt description of the both of us than ‘friends’ could ever be,” Jung said. “Or did I perhaps read a little too deeply into that kiss you gave me, hm?” he teased, leaning forward and giving Nikola a quick kiss. The other man let out a little startled sound, a rather lovely flush creeping up as he kissed Jung back. 

 

_ Though neither could say it out loud in this state, they both knew they finally felt like they’d found home.  _

  
  
  
  


**Another lil snippet thing for my** **MCU** **SSFCU I’ve set up here**

 

“Jung really does deserve better than you, Sigmund. Seems like he’s found that someone better too,” Tapputi said. There was an awful sinking sensation in the pit of his gut as the truth of the statement hit home. Though he’d never truly loved Jung, not in the way he had, the idea of him loving someone else… 

 

It refused to sit well with Freud. He didn’t like the thought of still being dependent on someone who no longer needed him in any way. 

 

“... He will come to his senses eventually, and get over this silly little phase of his,” Freud decided, a smirk curling at his lips as he relaxed. “He’s forgotten  _ just  _ how much it is that he needs me. Nikola will remind him of that in time, when his emotional unavailability proves to be too much for Carl. Then he’ll come back, you’ll see,” he said, speaking in such a self assured manner that it made Tapputi shudder. 

 

“And what if he doesn’t, huh? What if he and Nikola are truly happy with each other, without you being even remotely  _ near  _ the picture, let alone in it?” Tapputi snapped. 

 

“Neither have spent enough time with each other to realize the unfixable flaws the other has. Nikola will tire of Carl’s insatiable nature while Carl will become weary of Nikola’s introversion and fixation on a child that isn’t his own. I’ve no doubt that Carl will realize someone like him simply isn’t meant to have some ‘happily ever after’ with someone like Nikola,” Freud explained, folding his hands together calmly. 

 

_ “One way or another, Jung will come back to me.” _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	22. After All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bell can’t make the others understand, but he doesn’t have to. He just has to get his Watson back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and kinda sweet? Kinda not?? I’m playing catch-up and it shows

 

The race through time and space was driven solely by Bell’s need to be with his darling Watson once more, that strangely delicate, mechanical child he’d born into a world of turmoil and strife. It was a need he couldn’t fully explain to Turing and Lovelace, though he swore Lovelace knew more of this need than she would ever let the others know. Not that any of that mattered. They didn’t need to understand just why Bell needed his Watson back, they just knew they had to help him get his son back. After all, what use was a time traveling group of renegades with no way to travel through time?

 

So they’d given him the resources he’d need for his travel back to America, to a land that one could still call free. It was important that he had one of the electric wielders, though Nikola hadn’t exactly been his first choice. Watt was a father, Watt would understand without it needing to be explained! And yet…

 

_ Yet Bell found himself convincing the eccentric to tag along. _

 

Perhaps it was because Nikola wasn’t a father, wasn’t a man with any real sort of family to be left grieving should this mission be his doom. From the research he’d done into Nikola’s timeline, he’d lost both of his parents back in the late 1800s. He’d never married, never had children, and barely had friends! He was, as awful as it was to say,  _ expendable.  _

 

That’s what Bell needed right now, someone who could be of use without their loss of life or limb weighing heavily on his mind. 

 

_ Anything to get his darling Watson back. _


	23. Mechanical Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan wished he was taken just a little more seriously in the future. Alan wished for a lot of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short and bittersweet one! Still playing catch-up. Part of me wanted to delve into Alan’s history, but then we got the necessary episode/short and I suddenly had actual canon stuff to work with!!! There’s still a twinge of sadness/bitterness here and there, though, just because it’s me.

  
  


Alan Turing had wanted Watts for the mission. He would’ve been perfect for it, dammit! Yet Bell had decided to drag back Tesla, the eccentric who seemed to care for nothing besides his damned pigeons. Alan would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disgruntled at his ideas being shot down, but it wasn’t as if he had much say in the matter. Bell was the one with the time travel telephone box, so he was the one who got to make or break the rules.

 

And as usual, Alan was left to do the behind-the-scenes work with Ada. He was a hacker, the genius mathematician who revolutionized computers and their uses! His initial assistance in the design of the cryptanalytical bombe machines were necessary for that damned Enigma code to ever be broken, and what did he have to show for it now?

 

He had a small booth of a rather seedy club, shared with Ada and Bell. And now that everything had gone off the rails, he didn’t even have that! He was forced to run around in some stupid stronghold, trading heated words with Ada as they did. Just because she invented the first computer program back in 1842 didn’t mean she was always right about them two and a half centuries later! 

 

Gods, he would  _ never  _ understand why his work wasn’t valued more than it was. 

 

Not that Alan really had time to dwell on that, especially not when he had to focus on outrunning the robots! Soon enough, Ada and he were able to get them all to malfunction and power down. Watson was hauled back to the phone box, Tesla’s arm was cauterized and the new one attached, and he found himself back in his little shared booth at the seedy club. 

 

_ Back where he could finally make a difference that the history books couldn’t leave out. _


	24. So Small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philipp isn’t used to being treated so kindly by his new family, though... 
> 
> He can’t help but wonder if they really want him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More! 80s! Sitcom! Bullshit! Yeah!!!! I’m addicted to this AU, sorry. Expect spinoff shit after SSJ

  


Life with Mama Hari and Papa Jung was… Simply wonderful. Most anything would’ve been wonderful after the cold, cobbled streets of London, but Mama and Papa were just so…

 

_So kind to him._

 

They were kind when they didn’t have to be, when Philipp was nothing more than a strange child who had somehow managed to worm his way into their hearts and lives. Mama woke him up every morning for breakfast Papa cooked, then Papa would help him get dressed and comb his hair for school. Papa would sing funny songs on the way, his odd accent causing Philipp to giggle from his spot in the backseat.

 

Papa didn’t let him sit in the front because the backseat was the safest for him! Sometimes, though, Mama would let him sit up in front with her. She would just drive very, very slowly, down roads that were nearly always empty.

 

Philipp loved his new Mama and Papa! He even loved his new Aunt who came over, the old, wrinkly lady who smelled like someone had dumped Mama’s entire perfume collection on her. She always had candies for him! In fact…

 

It had been the allure of potential sweets that had drawn Philipp out from his bedroom, where he’d been playing with the paints Papa gifted him. Potential sweets and the swell of pride in his chest when he’d finished his masterpiece! He held the painting closely to him as he made his way down the stairs, moving slowly and carefully so as to not mess up what he’d worked so hard on.

 

_Philipp really needed them to like his painting, he had spent so long on it!_

 

He found himself slowing even more as he descended, eyes narrowing slightly as he heard whispered conversation. Eavesdropping wasn’t bad, right? Not when he could learn something useful, like what he might get for his birthday or for Christmas! Mama always said to keep his eyes peeled and his ears open to any information that came his way, after all.

 

“-and I just... I’m so exhausted all the time because of him, Tapputi,” Mama admitted. Philipp’s eyes went wide as he hesitated outside the door, listening closely as a sense of unease crept over him. “I feel awful for it, but sometimes I just think about how much easier everything was before I took him in,” Mama said.

 

“Raising a child under _any_ circumstances is hard, Mata. Raising one with Philipp’s circumstances...” Tapputi trailed off, sighing heavily as she sipped from her teacup. “It’s possible that you simply aren’t meant to raise him,” she said. Philipp stumbled back at the words, crying out in surprise when he hit someone. He whirled around to face Papa, tears already welling up in his eyes as the conversation in the next room came to a sudden stop. Papa looked confused, even more so when Mama and Aunty Tapputi came around the corner.

 

“My Kleiner Träumer, whatever is the matter?” Papa asked, speaking softly and sweetly as he reached out to Philipp. The little one just took a step back from them all, his face screwing up into a look they couldn’t quite recognize. His hands began to shake and he dropped the painting to the floor.

 

Philipp ran. He ran for the door and threw it open, tears streaming down his face as Mama and Papa called after him. He stumbled through the cobbled streets of London, quickly losing himself in the crowd as he ran. He darted down alleyways and turned onto streets at random, running until his sides ached and his lungs burned from the lack of air. He finally slowed down outside a small park, his feet and legs screaming out in protest as he searched for an open bench.

 

The only spot that had any room seemed to already be occupied, though, by two familiar faces. Philipp could feel the tears starting up again because it was _them._ The tall, thin man with sparky powers and the shorter boy who ran faster than he could comprehend. Hadn’t this all been their fault, partly? He began moving again, chubby little hands curled into fists at his sides as he marched up to them.

 

“-and then I was all like, ‘Not today Nazi!’ And I totally kicked his ass!” Albert boasted, his ice cream cone long forgotten in favor of telling Dad the story of his latest fight against the Nazis. He didn’t notice the small boy who was now running toward them, but he _did_ notice when he tripped and fell. Rather, he noticed when the little boy began to wail. Nikola had noticed as well, if the way he sprang up from the bench was anything to go by.

 

Philipp couldn’t help but cry from it all, from the confusion, from the emotional and physical pain, from _everything._ His knee was scraped up and bleeding now! This was the sort of thing Mama and Papa would fix, with Papa getting the plaster and Mama showering him with kisses while they both told him he was such a darling, brave little man for letting them clean the scrape up.

 

_Mama and Papa weren’t here now to pick him up and dust him off._

 

The anger in his eyes was already cooling, quickly tempered by the abrupt pain and longing Philipp felt. Longing for a comfort he’d only recently began to receive and become accustomed to, but comfort he yearned for nonetheless.

 

“Little one, what’s the matter?” Nikola asked, speaking in that same gentle tone Papa always used. The white-haired boy was standing behind him, peering down at the hurt child as an odd sort of empathy filled him.

 

“I can’t… I lost my family _again_ ,” Philipp whispered, lower lip quivering as the tall man helped him off the ground. He let out a little whimper as he stood, the dull, throbbing pain in his knee only worsening with the added pressure.

 

“Dad, I can carry him!” Albert suggested, tugging at Nikola’s sleeve lightly. “It’ll be easier for us to help him if he’s not hurting, right?” he asked, catching Philipp’s attention.

 

“Would you like to be off your feet, Little One?” Nikola asked, offering the boy a lopsided smile. Philipp sniffled and wiped at his face, then nodded.

 

“Hop on then! It’ll be easier for you to see your family if you’re up on my shoulders,” Albert explained, crouching down so he was level with the kid. “Plus, it’s fun to be up high! Makes you feel all grown up and stuff,” he added. Nikola couldn’t help but chuckle as Albert helped the little boy on, pride swelling in his chest at the simple kindness he was capable of.

 

“Little One, who are your parents?” Nikola asked, walking beside the two as they set off through the park. Philipp chewed at his bottom lip for a moment, wondering just how much he could tell them. They’d been really nice so far, nice like Mama and Papa…

 

“Mama’s name is Hari, and Papa’s name is Jung. That’s what they call each other, at least,” he finally replied, looking around the park as a frown crossed his face. He didn’t notice the way Albert and Nikola’s eyes widened, or how they were giving each other matching looks of confusion.

 

“... Carl Jung?” Nikola ventured, pace quickening as they left the park. “ _That’s_ your father? _You’re_ his little Philipp he’s always going on about?” he continued, a look of surprise taking over Philipp’s face.

 

“Papa… Papa’s told you about me?” Philipp asked, eyes wide as he looked at the tall man.

 

“He talks about you all the time! He says you’ve gotten pretty good at painting,” Albert said, grinning as the passing streets became more familiar.

 

“I… I didn’t know he talked about me that much,” Philipp admitted, feeling his face warm a bit. “Does he say other nice things about me?” he asked, speaking almost hopefully.

 

“Lots of lovely things, little dreamer! Jung’s always on about how proud he is of you, and about how sweet you are,” Nikola said, slowing down a bit as they turned onto Jung’s street.

 

“Doesn’t Tapputi have tea with Mata sometimes?” Albert asked, a lightbulb going off in his head as everything fell into place. “Tapputi says that Mata adores you!” he said, patting Philipp on the leg as he carried him. The little kid was lost in thought, a mistiness to his wide eyes now.

 

“Oh she most certainly does! Jung and Mata both make rather spectacular parents, given the circumstances,” Nikola said. “I’d say they love you as much as I love my own Mala Zvezda!” he added, tousling Albert’s hair a little.

 

“... So they don’t want to get rid of me, then?” Philipp asked, speaking so quietly and so suddenly that it made the older two stop in their tracks. Albert and Nikola shared a worried glance, one filled with silent questioning.

 

“Whatever gave you that idea, little dreamer?” Nikola asked, motioning for Albert to follow him. They were outside of Jung’s clinic now, taking up one of the benches he’d had installed for waiting patients. Nikola helped Philipp off of Albert’s shoulders and set him between them on the bench, keeping the little one warm against the London chill.

 

“... Mama said I made things difficult,” he began, picking absentmindedly at the material of his sweater. “She said… She sometimes liked to think about how it was easier when I wasn’t in her and Papa’s lives. Aunty Tapputi said that maybe she… Maybe she wasn’t supposed to have me, then,” he explained, sniffling as the tears started again. He was surprised to find a handkerchief being pressed into his hands, the older boy offering him a sheepish smile.

 

“I usually use it when I get upset and cry, but um… You can borrow it,” Albert offered. Philipp nodded and wiped at his eyes with the soft cloth as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. The older boy’s shoulder made a surprisingly comfortable spot to rest his head…

 

“... Hari and Jung aren’t really my parents. My actual Mama and Papa, they…” Philipp trailed off, blinking sleepily as he grabbed at the older boy’s arm. “They didn’t want me,” he finished, eyes fluttering shut as he fell asleep. Albert and Nikola sat in stunned silence. How could a set of parents just… Just abandon their child? During a time of war, no less!

 

“... You should call Dr. Jung. I don’t think I can legally move now,” Albert whispered, gesturing to the sleeping kid. Nikola nodded and moved away from the bench, speaking quietly through his communicator to the doctor in question. It didn’t take long for the three to show up, out of breath as they ran to the clinic.

 

“He’s sleeping,” Albert said, having graduated from being a child’s pillow to holding the child. The relief was palpable, Tapputi being the one to suggest they finally head inside. The subsequent walk was silent, with nobody really questioning why Albert insisted on carrying Philipp to bed instead of Jung or Mata.

 

“... He thinks you don’t want him,” Nikola stated, speaking so flatly that it startled the others. “I’ll be the first to admit in not knowing much about parenting, but I’ll also be the first to say my adoptive son _knows_ I want him,” he snapped, turning to glare at Jung and Mata. “Why the _hell_ would you discuss the downsides of being a parent where your child could hear it?!?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice low.

 

“I didn’t mean for him to hear me, I just-” Mata began, wincing as her voice cracked. “I just… I don’t know what I’m supposed to _do_ ,” she admitted, covering her mouth as a little sob tore through her. Nikola’s face softened as Jung moved in to comfort her, whispering sweet words to his darling butterfly.

 

“ _Neither_ of us know what to do, Mata. That’s why we have to talk to each other about these things,” Jung said. He wiped away her tears, offering a wobbly grin as his own eyes filled with them. “He’s _our_ little dreamer, dozing away in the sunlight. We have to make sure he’s got a place where he can stay asleep, okay?” he said. Mata nodded, her sobs nothing more than watery hiccups at this point.

 

“This is really sweet, it honestly is, but _Jesus Christ_ can we check on the two kids?” Tapputi asked, grumbling when Nikola jabbed her in the side.

 

“Rude!” he hissed, crossing his arms. “... We really should check on the boys, though,” he admitted, taking Tapputi’s hand as he helped her up the stairs. Jung and Mata were too busy cooing at each other to help some poor old lady up the stairs… Not that she was complaining, of course! Not when she had lovely Nikola to help her.

 

“... God dammit,” she whispered, covering her mouth a moment later when Nikola jabbed her again. Albert hadn’t just brought Philipp up to bed, the cute little bastard had fallen asleep holding the other, even more little bastard!

 

“Maybe… A nap is a good idea,” Nikola suggested, speaking softly in the quiet room.

 

“I agree! Nikola and I can share the couch-” Tapputi began, her grip on Nikola’s arm tightening as he squirmed.

 

“Absolutely not! I’d rather sleep on the bench outside!” Nikola said, finally managing to free himself of the old crone’s grasp. This was what he got for trying to be kind to the elderly!

 

“Quiet,” Philipp grumbled, glaring half heartedly at the adults from his warm spot in the bed. “Ally and I need a nap,” he said, cozying back up in the nest of covers Albert had made them. Nikola almost started crying, because _oh no_ his heart wasn’t able to handle that much concentrated, childlike behavior.

 

To be fair, though, the other three weren’t doing much better.

 

“... We have to arrange playdates now, right?” Mata asked, looking at Jung hopefully.

 

“It would be cruel to keep the two seperate when they clearly enjoy each other’s company!” Jung exclaimed, turning to look at Nikola.

 

“... Only if Tapputi agrees to help plan,” Nikola finally decided, offering her a little smirk.

 

“Just because I’m the grandma of the group doesn’t mean I should be the one in charge of this shit!” Tapputi griped, raising an eyebrow when Nikola didn’t jab her in the side this time.

 

“I’ll help you plan them?” Nikola suggested, visions of the two boys playing in the park already taking up residence in his mind. “We can all get ice cream!” he exclaimed, grin only widening. “I’ll even pay for yours, Tapputi,” he said.

 

“... God _dammit,_ ” Tapputi grumbled, crossing her arms. It was all the other three needed in terms of agreement, and the old woman suddenly found herself being the center of a group hug.

 

“Seriously, can we all take a nap?” Mata asked, feeling exhausted herself. “Running around London while having a mental breakdown over your son running away really… _Really_ takes it out of you,” she said.

 

“I fuckin know, you damn near dislocated my hip when you yanked me out the door,” Tapputi teased, feeling a little too pleased at the quick flash of concern in Nikola’s eyes.

 

“You nearly broke her hip?” Nikola asked, carefully pulling Tapputi away from the other two. He made sure to keep her separated from them as they made their way back down the stairs, unaware of the sheer glee on Tapputi’s face as he held her hand.

 

“To be fair, our son ran away,” Jung pointed out, grinning as he collapsed into his armchair. Mata sprawled across his lap, making herself comfortable as Nikola and Tapputi took over their couch. “You’d have freaked out, too, if it had been Albert who ran off like that,” he said.

 

“... I still wouldn’t have nearly broken a hip,” Nikola protested, though the flush on his face said otherwise.

 

“Oh shit, Philipp’s gonna have to change his painting now!” Tapputi exclaimed, grinning as she sat up. “He’s gotta add you and Ally in,” she explained, pointing to the newest addition to the Jung-Hari wall of fame.

 

“Oh _no,_ ” Nikola whispered, feeling all warm and fluttery as he looked at the painting.

 

_“My New Family”, painted by Philipp Jung-Hari._

 


	25. Escapism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freud isn’t used to feeling guilty, but he’s even less used to feeling so protective over a child that isn’t his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I took the Einstein’s fanfic prompt a little farther than I originally intended and it got kinda,,. Emotional. Turns out Freud didn’t think crying was bad, and actually viewed it as being a healthy form stress relief! (According to the two minute google search I did, at least)

  
  


Albert couldn’t help but hum to himself as he walked back to his bedroom, an excited grin on his face. He’d finally managed to nick another pen from Marie’s lab during his last checkup, so he could write some more of his fanfic now! It had been  _ way  _ too long since he’d last been able to write, so he had lots of new ideas for stories where he got to be the dashing hero. Those were his absolute favorite ones to write!

 

_ Though if he were to be honest, he liked any story where he wasn’t his usual self. _

 

Albert didn’t like thinking that way, so he shoved those thoughts into the dark recesses of his mind and carried on toward his room. He threw his bedroom door open, the grin on his face freezing before it turned into a scowl. 

 

“The hell are you doing in here, Freud?” he asked, shutting the door behind him. Freud just grinned, holding his hands behind his back as he stood in front of his chest of drawers. 

 

“Oh  _ nothing!  _ Nothing at all Einstein, I was actually on my way out,” he replied, lying smoothly as he skirted around the teen. Albert eyed him closely, not believing a single word he said. In a flash, he’d checked to see whatever was missing from his drawers. Let’s see… Everything was still neatly folded, the stuffed wolf Nikola had gifted him was hidden, but…

 

_ His journal was gone. _

 

“... Give it back, Freud,” Albert demanded, whirling around to glare at the old man. “Give it back  _ now,  _ that’s not yours!” he snapped, lunging forward suddenly to grab for his journal. Freud just smirked as he held it up above his head, watching as the youngest teammate tried and failed to reach it. 

 

“I never took you to be the type to keep a diary, Einstein,” Freud teased, opening the little journal up to a random page. Albert’s face was pale, unusually so as he grit his teeth. 

 

“Give it back now! That’s  _ mine!” _ he cried, stretching up as much as he could to try and reach it. “That’s  _ mine _ , it’s the only thing that’s  _ mine _ , give it back  _ please! _ ” he begged, scowling as best as he could at Freud through tear filled eyes. 

 

“... Why are you crying?” Freud asked, hesitating before he handed Albert his handkerchief. He didn’t... Like this. Albert didn’t cry, did he? He was rather sure he’d never seen him cry, not even when he was bruised up after fights. 

 

“M’not crying, Freud. That’s what little babies do!” Albert snapped, blinking furiously as he tried to will the tears away. He slapped the handkerchief out of Freud’s hands, using the moment of shock to snatch his journal back. He marched back over to his chest of drawers, fighting against the quiver in his lip as he shoved the journal back into place. 

 

“Einstein, it’s… It’s okay if you’re crying,” Freud ventured, taking a little step toward the teen. “It’s healthy, even, to cry for catharsis,” he added, picking up the handkerchief from the floor. 

 

“... Fuck off. Your psycho-babble has  _ never  _ helped me, why would it help me now?” Albert asked, wiping at his eyes roughly to get rid of the evidence of his weakness. Freud just sighed, picking his way across the cluttered room carefully. 

 

“Albert, look at me,” he demanded, speaking quietly to the boy. Freud saw the way he stiffened, saw the way his shoulders sagged before he started to shake. Albert turned around, face hot with shame as tears slid down his cheeks. He was surprised to see that Freud had taken off his glasses, revealing his own tear filled eyes. “See? There’s nothing wrong with crying, Albert,” he insisted, wiping at his eyes absentmindedly. 

 

“... Why are you crying?” Albert asked, confusion bleeding into his trembling voice as he stepped away from the chest of drawers. 

 

“Because I feel guilty,” Freud replied, giving a little shrug of his shoulders. “I had only wanted to tease you a bit, I didn’t… Causing you such distress so as to make your cry wasn’t my intention,” he elaborated. “I didn’t realize that whatever is in your journal is that important to you, and I’m… I’m sorry,” he said. It felt so  _ odd  _ to apologize, but it felt even more odd when Albert was suddenly hugging him tightly. 

 

Freud felt his eyes widen as he hugged the boy back, a strange surge of protectiveness coursing through him. Had Albert always been so… So small and fragile feeling? 

 

“Why were you snooping in my stuff anyways?” Albert asked, sniffling softly as he pulled away from the hug. “Did you… Did you actually  _ read  _ anything?” he asked, a look of terror stealing into his eyes. 

 

“I had actually meant to get you for your weekly session with me. You weren’t here, though, and I got a bit… Bored,” Freud admitted, taking a seat on the edge of Albert’s bed. “I didn’t actually have the chance to read anything, the plan was to ‘borrow’ the journal and read it in my office,” he said. Albert let out a relieved sigh, hesitating only a moment before he hopped up onto the bed next to Freud. 

 

“Well, you failed. Good thing too, that’s…” Albert began, trailing off as his face reddened more. “That’s private stuff,” he finished lamely, hands fidgeting slightly in his lap. He didn’t need Freud to know about all his insecurities, and how he used his writing to escape into a world of fantasy from the bleak reality he was forced to live in. 

 

_ Oh god, or his song lyrics!  _

 

“I mean, it can’t be  _ that  _ bad,” Freud commented, giving a little dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ve already been inside the dreams of everyone in the team, nothing could traumatize me more than that,” he joked. Albert just stared at his hands, the silence stretching on for just a beat too long. He didn’t like it when everything got so damned quiet! It made his skin itch and he just… Just always ended up talking about nothing to fill the void. 

 

“I um… I like to write about me saving the day,” Albert blurted out, now drumming his fingers against legs. “And I like to write about how I’m a really cool superhero, and how everyone really likes me, and how I  _ always  _ do the right thing and  _ never  _ screw up and-” he began rambling, pausing just long enough to breathe when Freud cut him off. 

 

“Albert,  _ calm down.  _ Speak a little more slowly, okay?” Freud said, raising an eyebrow at the boy. Albert nodded, rocking back and forth a bit as he tried to calm his racing heart. 

 

“I just… I like to pretend I’m me, but not. Like who I am now, with the same cool powers and stuff, but  _ better _ ,” Albert admitted. “No, perfect!” he amended, grinning as he finally looked back up at Freud. “I  _ hate  _ being myself, so I just… Write like I’m not! I get to do everything right the first time when I write, and nobody ever gets to yell at me for messing up because there’s no mess ups!” he said. 

 

Freud was… Frowning. Albert couldn’t help but frown as well, scooting away some as he rocked more. He didn’t like how Freud stared at him, like he was some sort of pitiful beetle that had flipped over onto its back and couldn’t get back up now. 

 

“Albert…” he began, choosing his words carefully as he spoke. “While it is in our very nature to want to escape from the scant pleasures that our everyday life has to offer, it is far from natural to see oneself in such a negative light,” he explained. 

 

“It’s fine! Everyone hates themselves from time to time, right?” Albert said, offering up a little grin to the psychiatrist. 

 

“ _ No,  _ heavens  _ no! _ ” Freud said, voice wavering slightly. “Albert, everyone has things about themselves they don’t  _ like _ . Everyone has some perceived flaw they’d like to change. Not everyone hates themselves,” he said, surprised at how distraught the question had made him. Just how deep had these feelings of self loathing been left to fester, turning necrotic as it poisoned his mind?

 

“Is that... Am  _ I  _ not normal?” Albert asked, stilling for a moment as he looked at Freud. There was a painful sort of clarity to his eyes, the sort that Freud only saw in the eyes of those who he’d finally manage to break down. It was supposed to be a moment of triumph, the sort of moment where he felt victorious because he was  _ that  _ much closer to helping his patients mend their broken psyches. 

 

_ So why did he feel so guilty for forcing this new truth onto Albert? _

 

“It isn’t normal to hate yourself so much that you feel the need to escape to a world where you’re perfect, no,” Freud finally admitted. Albert was crying again, such a piteous sight that he couldn’t help but feel protective for him. 

 

_ Someone had to be protective for him. _

 

“What you must understand is that… That this doesn’t define you, Albert,” Freud began, taking the boy’s jittery hands in his. “None of  _ this  _ defines you. You’re still growing, changing,  _ becoming  _ who you  _ truly  _ are!” he said, speaking faster as he went on. “While you should never deny these thoughts and feelings you experience, you cannot allow them to be all that you are. You are something…” he trailed off, feeling a little misty eyed again as he smiled at the boy. 

 

_ “You are something the world has never seen before, and will never see again.” _   
  



	26. Goodbye to a World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, direct currents were far more dangerous than Edison ever could’ve dreamed them to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!!! This chapter includes some fairly graphic descriptions of seizures, just in case that bothers you. There’s also the mention of blood! You’ve been warned.
> 
> also hi the ending is a cliffhanger that I’ll continue on game day, since I don’t have any ideas for game day.

  


Tesla had never expected it to end this way. He was supposed to finally beat Edison, to take back what was rightfully his and restore his name. Instead, during their ultimate fight, he’d been cut down by something too powerful. Something even Edison couldn’t fully comprehend. When the electric blast had hit him, it hit _hard._ He fell to the ground, a funny tightness in his chest as his muscles spasmed.

 

Tesla tried to reach out-to who he wasn’t sure-but he needed _something, someone,_ to help him up because his legs just wouldn’t work. His arm was charred, though, burnt to an unrecognizable crisp. For the first time in his life, he knew true fear. It was the familiar dizziness, stomach churning nausea, and the way his arms suddenly felt so weak. He knew what it all meant, knew he would have one of his episodes soon.

 

“Edi-Edison _please-”_ he whispered, cut off as another spasm ran through his body. Edison was motionless, eyes wide and horrified as he looked at Tesla. This… Wasn't supposed to happen. The shock was supposed to be enough to finally get Tesla to stop this feud-this war-and instead he was writhing on the ground while he gasped for air. He broke from his reverie and rushed forward, cursing under his breath as he slid down into the crater. The blast wasn’t supposed to put a bloody indent in the earth itself, who knew what it had done to Tesla?

 

“Nikola, Nicky? My boy, it’s okay,” Edison said, reassuring himself as much as he was reassuring Tesla. Tesla’s hand-the one he hadn’t completely ruined-reached for his blindly. He gripped it tightly, squeezing it in some vain attempt to comfort him. His pulse was out of control, beating wildly out of rhythm one moment and much too slow the next.

 

“Thomas? Tommy, oh god I’m so _scared._ What’s wrong? Why can’t I-” another convulsion, Tesla’s eyes rolling back as his body went rigid. Edison forced his hand between the younger man’s head and ground, wincing in pain as the convulsions ground his hand against the pavement. Better his hand than Tesla’s head, he reasoned. It took him a moment to come back, eyes fluttering open with a confused, terrified look to them.

 

“It’s okay Nicky, you’re gonna be okay. I’m here,” Edison said, pulling the thin man up until he was cradled against his chest. “I’ve got you, your old pal Tommy’s got you,” his whispered, voice shaking as the first tear rolled down his face. His direct current was supposed to be so much safer than Nikola’s alternating current. Why had it done so much damage, then? Why was it hurting his Nicky so awfully? It didn’t make sense and it wasn’t _fair!_

 

“I don’t wanna go, oh Tommy I’m _so_ scared,” Nikola whimpered, clutching at Thomas so desperately and so tightly that the older man was sure something in him would break.

 

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay! You’ll get fixed up and I’ll…” Thomas trailed off, because what exactly _was_ he going to do? Nikola’s breathing was shallow and uneven, occasionally hitching as another spasm wracked his body.

 

_Oh god why were his lips so blue?_

 

“... Please don’t go,” Nikola begged, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t leave me-please I can’t be alone now-” he was hysterical now, sobbing so pitifully that it broke Thomas’ heart all over again. He just hugged the man closer to him, burying his face against his neck as they cried.

 

“You’re not alone Nicky, I’ll never let you be alone. You’ve got me, and I bet your friends will be here soon to patch you up!” Thomas promised. “I’ll make you a new arm, okay? It’ll be great-you’ll be great-everything will be _great!_ ” he insisted, wobbly grin twisting up into something painful as Nikola went through another convulsion.

 

“... You promise?” Nikola asked, speech slurring as he tried to swallow the blood in his mouth. His tongue really hurt, he must’ve bit it…

 

“I promise you that, Nikola,” Thomas whispered, wiping at the blood that trickled down from Nikola’s mouth. Nikola nodded, his eyes fluttering shut as another convulsion ran through him.

 

_Only this time his eyes didn’t reopen._


	27. I Hope You’re Proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert and Nikola proved to be alike even after the Z3 war ended. As they say, like father, like son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just short and self indulgent, I just wanted to address how Nikola died and nobody really remembers that.

  


Nobody else seemed to be as bothered by Nikola’s death as Albert was, but that made sense. Even as Nikola had grown more confident and had gained more control over his powers, he was still seen by most as the team’s living battery. _Most_. That had always been the key word for Nikola, for Albert. While the others saw Nikola as a resource to be used, Albert had learned years and years ago that he was worth more than the others could ever imagine.

 

_A father figure who stood up for him when others wouldn’t._

 

So that was it, really. Albert had seen Nikola as the adoptive father he’d always wanted. The person he’d once seen Churchill as. He didn’t like to think about that, though, not when both had been lost to this war with Z3. The team had lost their leader, and he had lost the closest thing to a father he’d ever have.

 

_It hurt that Nikola’s body had never been found, had never been given a proper place to rest._

 

It was one final unfairness to the man. One last “fuck you!” from a universe that didn’t fully appreciate him before he ceased to exist in it. As if to make everything that much more painful for him, Albert couldn’t even visit Nikola. He still spoke to him, of course, whispered confessions late in the night.

 

Spoke about how things were getting better, and how the world was slowly mending itself back together after the war. Spoke about a dark-haired toddler with sad eyes, left adrift in the world as an orphan from Z3’s initial uprising. Spoke about following in Nikola’s footsteps and taking in a child that wasn’t his. Spoke about the future they’d made together, living out in a quaint house by the village where Albert worked as a schoolteacher. Spoke of newfound affection and a deeper understanding for how Nikola had cared for him in the past, because now he was the caregiver.

 

_Albert liked to think that Nikola was proud of him and the life he’d made with the family he raised._

 

Perhaps, when his sweet Kathy was older, Albert would tell her all he still remembered about her grandfather. While Nikola might’ve been gone, the memory of him would always persist in the depths of his heart and in the ghostly echoes of the memories they had shared.  



	28. Bottom of the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picture this, it’s 1692 and nothing else is historically accurate at all... 
> 
> A young, white-haired boy is ripped from his life and brought to the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect more of this shit, because hi I’m in love with this entire AU. Coven of Salem, coming to Netflix in the spring of 2020!

They came at dawn. 

 

They came when Albert was still in his pajamas, when he hadn’t even been able to wash the sleep from his eyes. The angry townsfolk dragged him from his bed, kicking and screaming as he tried to break free. Anna and Freud followed after the mob, unable to get close enough to the strange boy they’d so warmly welcomed into their little family all those years ago. 

 

“Papa! Papa  _ please  _ help me!” Albert cried, sobbing as the crowd shoved him along the cobbled path. 

 

“Don’t worry Albert! You’re going to be fine, I promise!” Freud called, moving to the front of the crowd. “People of Salem!” he yelled, voice suddenly loud and booming out across the sleepy town. It was the voice of a judge, of one so accustomed to leading the people in a righteous frenzy against the evils that plagued the town. Judge Freud commanded respect, and the townsfolk gave it to him willingly. They had fallen silent, gazing out at him like curious children as they stood motionless in the early morning mist. 

 

“You have made your fears of witchcraft known! As we stand here today, you have accused  _ two  _ citizens of consorting with Satan himself!” Freud continued, eyes flashing in anger as he glared back at the masses. “You accuse Marie Curie, the widower who lives by the forest. You even accuse my son, the boy I rescued from the streets when nobody else would. Who here will witness to their crimes?” he asked, stepping forward. There was hesitation, a low murmur running through the gathered crowd before the schoolteacher was pushed to the very front. 

 

“... I’ve heard the widow speaking in strange tongues late at night,” Mr. Robert confessed. “When the moon is full and the wolves run wild in her woods, she chants in her garden!” he explained. Robert turned to face Albert, something dark and unpleasant lurking in his eyes. “And your boy visits her frequently during the week! Everyone knows that witches cast spells over young men to have physical protection from those who walk with the Lord!” he insisted. Albert was wide eyed, tears still streaming down his face as he shook his head. 

 

“I visit her because I feel pity for her! She’s without children and without a husband, how could a pious follower of the Lord not feel sorry?” Albert asked, trying to calm his racing heart. There were so many people staring at him, examining his every move and analyzing his every word for truth. Had this been how the guilty felt as they plead their false innocence?

 

“There she is!” someone cried, the attention leaving him as another crowd came up. Marie Curie was in the middle of them all, though none of them dared to touch her directly. Instead, she had been shackled around her wrists like a common prisoner. 

 

“So this is the one who has tried to lead my pure son astray with her Satanic wiles?” Freud asked, sneering down at the widow. Marie stared back, eyes cool and face impassive in spite of the accusation. “She will be thrown into the river!” Freud decided, turning back to face his son. “Once we have purged her filth from this town, it will erase any influence or sway she has over my son. His eternal soul will be free of any ensnarement set by this wolf in sheep’s clothing!” he cried. 

 

The crowd was uproarious, shoving the two along to the river at the edge of the town. Distantly, Albert could hear Anna calling to him, promising he was fine. Then all he could hear-all anyone could hear-was the rushing water of the swollen river. It had rained the past few days, almost as if in preparation to cleanse away the evil. 

 

_ Though Albert wasn’t quite sure if there was any evil to rid the world of today. _

 

Surely, after all the times he had visited Widow Curie, he would’ve known? He would’ve sensed something was off about her, that she held such wicked thoughts and impulses underneath her sad smile. Yet… He was almost certain she wasn’t capable of something as evil as bewitching him. Not when she knew the risk it would pose to his safety. To  _ their  _ safety! 

 

“Marie Curie!” Freud began, pulling Albert from his little reverie. She had already been led down to the embankment, her boots sinking into the mud as the water swirled around her. “You have been accused of crimes against God, in the unholy nature of witchcraft! Mr. Robert has witnessed you chanting to Satan under the light of the full moon, and even suggests you have attempted to turn my own kin against me. What say you in your defense?” he asked. There was that fire back to his eyes, something terrifying that had Albert feeling cold despite the June heat.

 

“I say nothing in my defense, for I have done nothing wrong,” Marie said, her voice carrying despite the wind that had begun to howl. “In the defense of Albert Freud, the young boy this town would’ve allowed to starve if not for the charity of Judge Freud…” she began, trailing off as she eyed the judge. “I insist that he is innocent. Like his father before him, Albert’s only crime is that he took pity on someone who no longer had family,” she finished. Dark clouds had rolled in quickly, promising even more rain for the raging river. 

 

“... My son’s innocence will not be proved by whatever words you speak, witch. It will be proved when your body no longer moves and your lungs refuse to fill with air!” Freud snapped, stepping toward the still woman. 

 

“Papa  _ no!” _ Anna cried, suddenly pushing through the crowd. She wedged herself between Marie and her father, tears gathering in her eyes once more as she stared up at him. “She’s innocent, Papa you  _ know  _ she is!” Anna insisted, searching his wide eyes for some sign of mercy.

 

_ All she found was wrath and gluttonous need for control _

 

“You vile bitch!” Freud snarled, taking a certain perverse delight in the way Marie finally flinched. “It wasn’t enough to corrupt my son, you went and turned my true child against me as well!” he accused, shoving Anna aside roughly. She cried out, a jolt of pain searing through her arm as she hit the ground. The crowd had fallen silent, wide-eyed and pale-faced as the rain began to fall.

 

“Lay your bloodied hands on her again, Freud, and I’ll kill you,” Marie hissed, the deadly promise ringing out despite the chilling howl of the wind. Albert’s eyes narrowed slightly as he listened closely, feeling an odd surge of power before he broke free from the crowd. He found himself moving fast, faster than he ever should be able to, as he ran to his sister. He didn’t hear the horrified gasps of the crowd, he only heard that  _ howling  _ that wasn’t the wind in his ears.

 

_ It was something ancient and terrifying, but so familiar that it made his very soul ache. _

 

“Anna? Anna, where are you hurt?” Albert whispered, surprised by the sudden guttural quality to his voice. Anna looked just as surprised as he felt, though she forwent replying in favor of hugging him tightly. Neither noticed as a pink mist crept in, not until the crowd was crying out once more. They had fallen to their knees, matching looks of confused terror frozen on their faces. 

 

“The Wolf has risen!” Freud cried, the first of many to repeat the phrase. Albert helped Anna to her feet, shocked at the sudden strength that coursed through him. Marie was standing by them now, a cautious grin on her face as she looked to the horizon. 

 

“I have to leave now, Anna. They’re here for me,” Marie said, taking the younger woman’s hand in hers. “I…” she began, trailing off as she took in the sight of the two siblings. “Thank you. Thank you both for trying to help me,” she said, smoothing back Albert’s hair with her free hand. She hesitated, then pressed a quick kiss to Anna’s cheek. 

 

“You can’t go without us,” Albert insisted, staring the witch down. “I can’t let you leave my sister here all broken hearted, and I can’t stay behind without her. You have to take us with you!” he said, his words proving to be oddly persuasive now. Marie was looking him over, examining him as if he were some interesting specimen in her garden. Then she nodded, seemingly satisfied with whatever she’d found.

 

“Darwin will make good use of you, Mały szczeniak. Very well. You both will come with me, with  _ us _ ,” Marie decided, looking back out to the horizon. Though he didn’t understand the words, something about them stirred odd feelings in Albert’s chest. 

 

“The Wolf is here! He comes for us now!” Freud cried, the crowd now echoing him with their haunting wails. The howling was back in Albert’s ears, though it no longer frightened him. 

 

_ And there the Wolf was, blood dripping from its maw as it approached the three. _

 

“Hello, old friend,” Marie whispered, grinning as she scratched at the Wolf’s chin. “Took the three of you long enough, didn’t it?” she teased, looking beyond the Wolf. An elderly woman had suddenly appeared, a sly grin spreading across her wrinkled face. A young man stood beside her, a gentle warmth to his eyes as he looked the three over. 

 

“Well, the Oracle hadn’t expected the pup to come into his powers today. We had to make some last minute adjustments to the plan,” she explained, motioning towards Albert. 

 

“Though I must admit, Darwin will be rather happy to have another like himself in the Coven,” the man said, speaking with an eloquence Anna and Albert were unaccustomed to. “Darwin! Introduce yourself to the new blood,” he commanded, raising an eyebrow at the Wolf. The creature let out a short howl, the sound morphing into an excited cry as he shifted back into his human form. 

 

“New blood indeed! Isn’t this exciting, pup? We’ve  _ finally  _ got you back!” Darwin said, grinning as he beckoned to the child. Albert’s eyes were wide as he took a hesitant step forward, something so painfully familiar about the older man in front of him that it brought tears to his eyes. He found himself lunging, tackling the man in a hug that would’ve brought anyone else to the ground. It barely made Darwin stagger, though, and he couldn’t help but laugh as he hugged the little pup tightly. 

 

“The family reuniting is extremely touching, but we can catch up later,” the old woman said, gesturing to the silent crowd. The pink haze that had once consumed them was already thinning, their cries of the Wolf finally dying out. “For now we need to get these two to safety,” she said, offering Anna and Albert a grin. 

 

“Anything for my dusza,” Marie said, sweeping Anna up and off her feet. “Ready?” she murmured, speaking in that soft tone reserved only for her Anna. 

 

“As I’ll ever be,” Anna replied, catching Marie in a quick kiss before they were off. Albert watched in amazement as Marie took to the skies, their laughter ringing out far more prettily than the church bells ever had. 

 

“You coming, pup?” Darwin asked, already shifting back to the Wolf. Albert nodded, that power back in his legs and filling his lungs with air as he took off toward the forest. Darwin ran alongside him, discordant howls filling the ears of the odd little family as they made their escape into the depths of the forest. 

 

_ Discordant howls and silvery laughter. _

 

“Welcome home!” the old woman called, leading the pack past a curtain of fragrant honeysuckle and into a well-lit cave. 

 

“Cave sweet cave!” Darwin cried, shaking himself to get rid of the leaves stuck to his tattered clothes. Albert could only grin as he took in the sight, the slight ache in his legs and burning in his lungs a price he was more than willing to pay to finally be home. 

 

“Jung…?” a man called, stepping out into the front chamber. The eloquent man from before-Jung-let out a little sound of joy as he ran forward. “I take it the mission was successful?” the man asked, giggling as Jung spun him around.

 

“Shouldn’t you have foreseen that, oh mighty Oracle?” Jung teased, pulling his mate into a warm embrace. 

 

“Hey! Can you two knock off the cutesy shit for  _ five minutes  _ and actually introduce yourselves?” the old woman snapped, though the light in her eyes betrayed any anger in her voice. The two parted, the Oracle eyeing Anna and Albert now. 

 

“Ah… It is a pleasure to see you once more, Albert. Anna, you look every bit as radiant as Marie described you to be!” the Oracle said, smiling at them both. “Nikola Tesla, Oracle and Master of Storms at your service,” he added. 

 

“Carl Jung. Resident medic and Master of the Mind. We’ve never met, but be assured that your arrival has been expected for quite some time,” Jung explained. 

 

“We’ve met before, but you were such a tiny babe back then!” Darwin said, patting Albert on the head. “The name’s Charles Darwin, but the both of you can call me Uncle Chuck. I’m the Coven’s Familiar!” he said, grinning at the two newcomers. “I’ll be the one to help the pup here deal with his shifting, seeing as I’m the only one who  _ actually  _ shapeshifts here,” he said, looking over to the old woman as she spluttered.

 

“I’ll have you know, Dog, that my potion’s projections are every bit as powerful as your transformations!” she insisted, scowling up at him. 

 

“ _ Please  _ don’t get Tapputi started, Darwin,” Marie warned, pinching the bridge of her nose tightly. 

 

“Hey! I was supposed to tell the new kids my name!” Tapputi protested, crossing her arms as she turned her disapproving stare to Marie. “... By the way, name’s Tapputi,” she said. “You’ll find no better alchemist in all of North America, so don’t underestimate the things my potions and perfumes can do,” she said, shooting a glare at Darwin. 

 

_ “Welcome to the Coven of Salem, new bloods.” _


	29. Blue Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody had expected Nikola to react quite as he did to the direct current blast. What was even less expected, though, was the way Edison and Albert both reacted to the possibility of Nikola passing on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT! IS! DONE! NOBODY FUCKING TOUCH ME, I DID IT! NEARLY 50K IN A MONTH, IM RESDY TO LIE DOEN AND DIE. I HAVE ASCENDED TO NIRVANA

 

When the rest of the Super Science Friends arrived at the scene of the shockwave, they were horrified at what they found. Edison had barely managed to crawl out from the crater, tears carving through the dust that had settled on his face. He still cradled Nikola’s still, broken body to his chest. 

 

_ So very still, with cold, blue lips that made the others shiver. _

 

“Please-” Edison began, voice cracking as he stumbled. Albert was there in a flash, steadying him as he stared at Nikola with wide, horrified eyes. “You’ve got to help my boy,  _ please,”  _ he begged, a wretched sob tearing free from his throat. “He’s been having fits and now he won’t wake up and I don’t know how to fix him. Curie, tell me you can fix him!” he said, an edge of hysteria creeping in that made the medic wince. 

 

“I… I can fix him,” Curie whispered. “He’s going to be okay Edison, I promise,” she lied. The look of relief on Edison’s face only worsened the guilt that threatened to bring tears to her eyes. 

 

_ Curie had never seen Nikola in such a state, and wasn’t sure if he could be rescued this time. _

 

“Help him into the Science Mobile, Darwin,” Curie said, taking command of the impromptu rescue mission. 

 

“No!” Edison snapped, glaring weakly at the team’s muscle. “No. I don’t… I can get him into the car myself,” he said, words tight and clipped as he moved. 

 

“Edison, you need to let me help. Nikola’s heavy in this state,” Darwin explained, staring down at the inventor. 

 

“... He’s not heavy, he’s my boy,” Edison insisted, speaking so quietly that the others could barely hear him. Darwin just sighed and threw the glass hatch open. The others piled into the Science Mobile behind Edison, with Albert sitting in the back with the two while the others stuck up front. 

 

“... What happened to him?” Albert asked, finally voicing the one thought that had plagued everyone since they arrived. 

 

“I’m not… I’m not entirely sure, my boy. We were fighting, and I…” Edison began, swallowing roughly around the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. “Has he ever had a negative reaction to direct currents?” he asked, absentmindedly brushing the sweat matted hair away from Nikola’s forehead. 

 

“You hit him with direct currents?” Curie asked, horror bleeding into every syllable and serving only to twist the knife. “Edison, his entire  _ body  _ runs on alternating currents! Introducing direct currents to the system would have catastrophic results!” she said, glancing back to catch the inventor giving her a look so heavily laden with guilt that it made her ache. 

 

“This has happened before though, hasn’t it? So you know what to do to make my boy better again, right?” Edison pressed, feeling the tears start up again when Curie turned back to the front. “... Look at me. Tell me you know how to fix him! Tell me he’s going to be okay with a bit of medicine and rest!” Edison demanded. 

 

_ “Tell me I haven’t killed my boy!” _

 

The desperate pleas hung in the air, a deafening silence falling over everyone in the car. A silence that was only broken when Albert let out a terrified sob. It was a heart wrenching sound, one that only made the reality of the situation seem that much more dire. 

 

“He can’t die! Nikola can’t die because he promised me he wasn’t going to leave me!” Albert cried, catching the others off guard with the statement. “He  _ promised  _ he’d take care of me after the war! He can’t break his promise and leave me all alone!” he said, suddenly seeming so very small and fragile next to Edison. 

 

“Nikola Tesla is a man of his word, son. If he promised to take care of you, then he’ll make good on that promise,” Edison said, though he couldn’t help but feel a cold tendril of doubt twist at his thoughts. He couldn’t let that doubt show through his facade. Not when Albert was staring up at him, searching his face so desperately for the truth to his statement. Edison offered him a weak grin, which seemed to be enough for the boy. Albert nodded slightly, then grabbed Nikola’s good hand in his. 

 

“Mr. Edison says you’re going to be okay, Dad. He says you wouldn’t break a promise to me, and Marie Curie said she can fix you right up. So…” Albert hesitated, sniffling softly as he looked at the unconscious man. “So you’ve got to wake up soon, okay?” he whispered, squeezing his hand gently. “You’ve gotta wake up so we can do all the things you promised. I-I still don’t know how to drive! And you said you’d teach me, remember?” he asked, feeling more than a little woozy as the Science Mobile kept through time and space. 

 

“... C’mon you two, we need to get Nikola into the infirmary,” Tapputi said, shifting into park as the others got out of the car. Edison didn’t object this time when Darwin took Nikola, feeling far too exhausted to argue, let alone carry his boy. The walk up to the infirmary was quiet, only the occasional watery hiccup from Albert or sniffle from Edison breaking through. Curie went straight to work on the unconscious man, taking vitals and hooking him up to all sorts of wires and needles. 

 

Edison took up residence in one of the plastic chairs, unsurprised when Albert sat down beside him. He hadn’t… 

 

_ He hadn’t known Nikola was a father. _

 

The realization only served to worsen the guilt he felt, the very possibility of stealing away a child’s father weighing heavily on his already burdened conscience. That’s what Albert was, wasn’t he? A child, one with no family outside of Nikola. He’d said Nikola had promised to take care of him after the war had ended, said it with such desperation that Edison couldn’t help but wonder as to what his fate would be if…

 

_ If he really had killed his boy.  _

 

Would the Super Science Friends simply dispose of him? Toss the child out like last week’s refuse? Surely they wouldn’t! They were superheroes, and Edison was rather sure that leaving a young orphan to fend for himself in the aftermath of a war of the worlds was far from ethical. Yet Nikola, his darling Nikola who had always insisted he would live his best life if he lived it in solitude, had been convinced that he had to take the young boy under his wing. 

 

What exactly had led to that decision? Had… Had Nikola known something about Albert’s future that the boy hadn’t? Was there  _ anything  _ planned for his future at all? Edison knew the lad was supposed to replace the original Einstein, and that the entire purpose of having any of the Super Science Friends around to begin with was to fight this blasted war of Churchill’s…

 

“You should rest, Edison,” Curie said, breaking the man from his reverie. “Albert is already sleeping, I can move him to a proper bed. There’s a guest room of sorts you could sleep in,” she said, gesturing to the softly snoring child that was using Edison’s arm as a pillow. 

 

“... You can move Albert, but I’m not tired. Not yet,” Edison replied, shifting slightly so that the boy was more upright. It wouldn’t do for him to wake up with a crick in his neck, now would it? Curie only sighed, looking rather tired herself as she shook Albert gently. 

 

“Come on, Albert. You need to sleep in a real bed,” she whispered, helping the boy stand up. He wiped at the sleep in his eyes, blinking slowly as he readjusted to the bright, fluorescent lights. 

 

“I can take the cot,” he mumbled, shuffling over to the little army cot kept in the corner. “Don’t wanna miss it when Dad wakes up,” he said, collapsing onto the thin mattress before Curie could protest. 

 

“... He’s every bit as stubborn as Nikola was, you know,” Edison said, a wry little grin tugging at his lips. “Though he can at least be persuaded to rest when he needs it. Nikola  _ hated  _ it when I’d force him away from his work so he could sleep,” he added. 

 

“I’m still… I’m still sort of reeling from Albert calling him dad,” Curie admitted, taking Albert’s old chair by Edison. “I wouldn’t have expected those two, out of everyone in the team, to bond in such a way,” she said. 

 

“... Both of them have impossible expectations to live up to,” Edison began, wondering just how much the others knew of Nikola’s own family. “They’re both searching for their own place in the world, so I suppose it would only make sense for them to make their own little family together,” he mused. Curie raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a look of tired curiosity. 

 

“What expectations could Tesla possibly have to live up to? Albert, anyone could understand him. He’s in the shadow of the original, of the one who led us when Churchill couldn’t. In what world does Tesla have the same sort of expectations placed upon him?” Curie asked. Edison was quiet for a moment, brows furrowing as he mulled his answer over. 

 

“Has Nikola ever spoken to you of his older brother?” Edison asked, picking his words carefully as he proceeded. 

 

“He has an older brother?” Curie replied, her eyebrow climbing just a little bit higher at this revelation. The others knew of Nikola’s sisters, but the man had  _ never  _ mentioned anything about a brother at all, older or younger. 

 

“He  _ had  _ an older brother,” Edison corrected, folding his hands together as he stared at the resting boy in the corner. “His name was Dane. He was the favorite of the family, you know? Milutin-Nikola’s father-was far more fond of Dane than he ever was of Nikola,” he explained. Curie just nodded along, feeling a strange sort of sadness for the man in the hospital bed. “When Dane died… Milutin blamed Nikola for it,” Edison said, pushing himself out of the chair. He began pacing around the room, words pouring from his mouth like rain from dark, heavy clouds. 

 

“Nikola never felt like he had a proper father after that. Milutin pushed for him to join the church as he had, but Nikola’s head was up in the clouds. As much as he wanted to be the son Milutin had lost, there was no way he could ever be Dane. He had to be himself, even if…” Edison hesitated, stopping near the bed to look his boy over. 

 

_ “Even if it meant losing his father.” _

 

“... And so you think he saw part of himself in Albert, then?” Curie asked, closing her eyes as she let her head rest against the wall.

 

“No,” Edison said, speaking flatly. “Nikola didn’t just see a part of him in Albert, he saw the  _ exact  _ same desperate longing for acceptance in Albert’s eyes that he’d always seen in his own,” he elaborated. “They’re more alike than any of you could  _ ever  _ understand,” Edison muttered, feeling a dull anger settle over him. How was it that he knew more about Nikola from the few months they’d worked together than those the man had spent the last year or so with? How was it that Nikola had begged  _ him  _ of all people to stay by his side when he was at his most vulnerable? 

 

_ Why the hell did Nikola place more trust in his sworn enemy than he did his own team? _

 

“... You should be safe to move Albert to a proper bed now,” Edison said. He had decided to stand by Nikola for now, to help keep the blood flowing properly through his body. Though if he were to be honest with himself, he really found that he no longer wanted to sit near Curie. How the devil had they  _ all  _ been oblivious to Nikola’s past? To the relationship he’d formed with Albert? What else did they not know?

 

“What makes you so sure of that?” Curie asked, crossing her arms as she stared at the man. Since when was Edison such a bloody expert on  _ her  _ teammates?

 

“His breathing has finally evened out and his face isn’t scrunched up anymore. He’s not going to wake for anything for the next handful of hours, Curie. You’re a parent, you should  _ know  _ those sorts of things,” Edison snapped, busying himself with fixing the askew sheets. Nikola would be furious if he woke up to such a messy, unkempt bed… 

 

Curie only huffed as she stood, moving stiffly as she carried Albert from the infirmary. For a brief moment, Edison was alone with his boy. He allowed his gaze to soften as he smoothed the sheet one last time, the steady hum of nearby machinery soothing his troubled mind. 

 

“Guess it’s my turn to watch over you two, huh?” Tapputi asked, poking her head in. 

 

_ God dammit. _

 

“Heavens forbid I get a moment with my boy,” Edison grumbled, turning to face the old woman. 

 

“Hey, you’re the one who put him in the hospital to begin with,” Tapputi pointed out, ignoring the way Edison winced. “Don’t expect to be left alone with him for more than a moment or two at a time. Wouldn’t put it past you to try and finish what you started,” she said, plopping down into one of the plastic chairs. Her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of Edison’s hand, the first to really notice the dried blood and scabs. 

 

“... He was having one of his fits, and his head kept jerking back against the pavement,” Edison explained, shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t want him to get hurt any worse than he was, so I just…”

 

“You let him grind your hand up into a mess of gravel and bloodied skin?” Tapputi asked, leaning forward to get a better look at the mangled flesh. 

 

“I’d hardly phrase it in such a dramatic way,” Edison protested weakly, taking a moment to look at his hand properly. 

 

“Uh huh. I’m the one being dramatic here for sure, not the man who risked fucking up his hand permanently to save ‘his boy’ from getting hurt,” Tapputi said, speaking so dryly that it brought a much sharper anger than before.

 

“Forgive me if I wanted to make up for nearly  _ killing  _ him. It wouldn’t look good for my image if I left a boy without a father, now would it?” Edison said, each word drenched in biting sarcasm. He couldn’t help but scowl at the woman, feeling the heat rise in his face. “Not that anyone would’ve known! I mean, his own damned  _ team  _ didn’t know that he’d all but adopted the youngest of the team!” he snapped, just barely able to keep his voice under control. 

 

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ talk to me like I’m some oblivious idiot!” Tapputi hissed, advancing on the inventor suddenly. “The others may not have realized it, but I sure as hell can recognize when someone’s taken a shine to a kid that isn’t theirs! I’ve been alive for thousands of years, Edison! What makes you think I haven’t been in the same spot Nikola’s in now?” she asked. She was struggling to stay in control as well, struggling to keep her voice low so that Nikola could get some much needed rest. 

 

“... So you knew that he had intentions of adopting Albert after the war ended?” Edison asked, speaking softly to the woman. Tapputi sighed as she nodded, her youthful appearance suddenly looking rather haggard. 

 

“He’d spoken to me about it before, yes. I got the feeling that he didn’t fully trust the others with the idea, so it was our secret,” she said. “I… I had actually planned to join up with them, if they’d let me,” she admitted. Tapputi sat on the edge of the hospital bed lightly, a gentle warmth to her eyes as she looked Nikola over. “I don’t doubt that he’s a wonderful father for Albert, but I know just how difficult it can be to raise a child alone. Especially after a war like this,” she explained. 

 

“... For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a lovely addition to their little family. Albert needs a mother just as much as he needs a father,” Edison said, offering her a little grin. Tapputi only let out a short laugh in response, the sound high and almost hysterical sounding. 

 

“I surely hope I would, Thomas. We’ll be the only three to stay here in the present once it’s all said and done. I don’t… I’ve been alone time and time again through my travels of the world. I think I’d rather spend this lifetime, with this name and body, with those I know and trust,” she said. 

 

“You’re staying here?” Thomas asked, only mildly surprised by the thought. He was sure the others had family to go back to in the past, but he hadn’t really thought about Tapputi. 

 

“There’s nothing for me to go back to, Thomas. Nothing that I haven’t already seen wither and waste away,” Tapputi murmured. A certain weight had settled around her shoulders once more, the weight of the many lives she had lived throughout the years. “... I prefer to look to the future rather than the past, anyways,” she lied, brushing her hair back away from her face. 

 

“It can be nice to think of what can become of what already is…” Thomas admitted, gaze lingering on Nikola’s face once more. Tapputi only nodded, the pair falling into a rather comfortable silence as they stared at Nikola. He looked so…

 

_ So peaceful. _

 

There was usually a manic sort of energy to his eyes when he was awake, an energy that forced him along even when his body cried out for mercy. To see his face at ease, no worry or panic creasing his eyes… He looked  _ young.  _ Startlingly so, especially with his hair all a mess and his skin so flushed. There was still a tinge of blue around his lips, though it had definitely lightened since Nikola had been brought into the infirmary. 

 

“... Freud will be next, just so you know,” Tapputi said, breaking the silence. “He’s probably having a field day with everything that’s been on, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to psychoanalyze everything,” she warned. Tapputi stood up from the bed, letting out a little yawn as she stretched her tired muscles. 

 

“He can’t analyze me if I don’t say anything,” Thomas muttered, leaving Nikola’s side just long enough to haul a chair over to the bedside. He was more tired than he’d like to admit, and the chair would be rather nice to rest in…

 

“Good luck with that,” Tapputi called, already at the door. She hesitated a moment, worrying her lower lip between her teeth before she grinned. “He’s probably going to want to know how you’ve got him beat at his own game. I mean, even Freud didn’t know about Nikola and Albert, but you must have had it figured out for a while, huh?” she teased, glancing back over her shoulder at Thomas. “Good thing for your image, wouldn’t do if you left a boy fatherless and all that jazz,” she parroted, leaving Thomas in a bit of a stupefied state. 

 

He could feel his face warming once more, feeling a trifle embarrassed over being caught in his lie. Then Freud was waltzing in, notepad and pencil already in hand as he settled onto the cot. 

 

“... So. When did you begin seeing Nikola as  _ your  _ boy?” Freud asked, getting right into it. There was a little smirk curling at his lips, one that was already rather infuriating to be exposed to. How exactly did the others put up with him again? Thomas merely ignored the question, instead opting to smooth out already immaculate sheets. 

 

“Very well, we can revisit that later. Why exactly did you feel so comfortable to constantly antagonize someone you considered to be yours?” Freud asked, quirking up an eyebrow as Thomas tensed. Even though he insisted on staying silent, any psychiatrist worth their doctorate could tell when they’d struck a sensitive topic. “Perhaps it was a classic case of the Oedipus complex, hm? You know you’re in competition-though quite literally in this case-with Nikola, and you know there’s an unresolved hatred he feels for you that leaves the relationship at an emotional stalemate,” he suggested, pulling a cigar from his front pocket. 

 

“Light that blasted thing and I’ll put it out in your eyes. How’s that for a complex?” Thomas snapped, glaring at the man. 

 

“Ohoho! You feel so protective over this one that will never be yours, how  _ fascinating! _ ” Freud exclaimed, scribbling something down onto his notepad. He let out a little squawk when Thomas suddenly snatched his notepad away, tearing the whole thing to shreds before he tossed it into a nearby bin. 

 

“For  _ once  _ in your life, can you have just a  _ little  _ bit of tact?!?” Thomas snarled, towering over the sitting man rather easily. “For god's sake Freud, Nikola’s in the hospital! Curie said his system couldn’t handle the attack, and she doesn’t know if she can save him this time!” he said. Freud only stared back up at him, shrinking against the wall slightly. If he were a smart man, he’d keep his mouth shut and sit in an uneasy silence.

 

_ For all his college education, though, Freud made extremely idiotic decisions. _

 

“I see no reason to worry. It won’t be any blood staining my hands or any mark against my soul. It’s your conscience that will have to deal with it should Tesla pass, we’ll just make a new one,” Freud explained, speaking so candidly that one might think he was simply discussing his reasoning for cigars over cigarettes. 

 

“... You’ll just make a new one?” Thomas asked, incredulity creeping into his voice. 

 

“That is correct. When Einstein was murdered, we simply made a replacement. The procedures for cloning have actually improved since then, so it’s likely that the next Tesla would be of higher quality than what we have now!” Freud said, grinning as he clapped his hands together. “It’s possible we could even rid him off his neuroses this time! He’d be a more valuable asset without all his odd little quirks and attachments to mundane things,” he added. 

 

The sudden scuffle in the infirmary was what caught Darwin’s attention as he prepared for his shift with Thomas. While he’d personally thought that sending Freud in was a rather bad idea, he certainly hadn’t expected to walk in on…

 

_ On Thomas attempting to choke Freud out. _

 

“Take it back you rotten bastard! Take everything back  _ now! _ ” Thomas threatened, his grip around Freud’s neck only tightening as he cut off the man’s air supply. Darwin was dumbfounded for a moment, half convinced he had eaten the wrong toad earlier and was experiencing the worst hallucinations of his life. 

 

“Get off of me you-you fat bastard!” Freud wheezed, shoving at Thomas weakly. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, his lungs screaming for a breath of fresh air as the deprivation continued. Then he was free of the man’s grip, gasping as he pulled air into his aching lungs greedily. Darwin had pulled Thomas away rather easily, and now was holding the man out at arms length like he was some sort of rabid vermin. 

 

“Out,” Darwin demanded, the single word all the reason Freud needed to scramble away from the mad bastard. Darwin let out a tired huff before he set Thomas down on the cot, still standing a ways away from him in case he decided to turn on him next. “... Care to explain what  _ any  _ of that was about, or why you thought it was necessary to try and murder our psychiatrist?” Darwin asked, sitting on the edge of Nikola’s bed. 

 

“Oh haven’t you heard?” Thomas began, sneering up at the man as he crossed his arms. “It magically doesn’t matter if one of your teammates should pass! After all, it’s so  _ simple  _ to just clone them! You can even fix whatever  _ pesky  _ little flaws they had before, making them  _ perfect  _ for the team!” he drawled, letting out a noise of disgust.

 

“... I take it Freud said something to that effect, but regarding Nikola?” Darwin asked, pinching the bridge of his nose lightly as a headache came on. Churchill  _ really  _ needed to monitor the man’s cocaine consumption a little bit more, especially when he was popping off about million dollar experiments so casually to their enemies. 

 

“Only after he accused Nikola of having an Oedipus complex against me, of course!” Thomas added. “Yes, he  _ clearly, absolutely despises me _ . That’s why he was begging  _ me  _ to stay with him when he could’ve called one of  _ you _ ,” Thomas snapped. 

 

“I suppose it’s a good thing Jung was the medic, rather than Freud. He has very poor bedside manner,” Darwin said, grinning as Thomas snorted. 

 

“That’s putting it  _ very  _ lightly. To say Freud has poor bedside manner would be akin to saying he enjoys a good cigar once in awhile!” Thomas quipped. Though he still had half a mind to throttle Freud the next time he saw him, he had to admit that Darwin was rather gifted at lightening even the heaviest of moods. 

 

“... You know, I’m sure that’s some sort of… What would he call it? A defense mechanism?” Darwin said, quirking up an eyebrow. 

 

“I believe that’s what he’d call it, yes,” Thomas agreed. Lord knows he’d heard Jung blather on about the many defense mechanisms of Sigmund Freud enough to pick up the term… 

 

“Well, I like to think he’s so worried about Tesla that he just pretends it’ll be fine and dandy to have a clone around,” Darwin said, leaning back a little. “If having a clone around is okay, then he doesn’t have to think about how his passing might affect himself or the team dynamic, right?” he explained. Thomas nodded, though he still personally believed that Freud was just someone that was severely lacking in tact and empathy. 

 

“I’d like to think that too if I had to entrust him with my life,” Thomas commented, looking away from Darwin to Nikola instead. The conversation ended rather abruptly, the signal loud and clear on Darwin’s end. Time stretched on, minutes ticking away to hours as Thomas waited for something to happen. There would be the occasional twitch in Nikola’s hand, or a little, rather pleasant sounding sigh that passed his lips. 

 

_ On the bright side, they were no longer blue. _

 

They’d returned to their usual shade, something small that brought immense relief to Thomas. It had been a long while since he’d sat with Nikola through a fit, but the return of color to his face and lips was usually a sign of everything returning to normal. To pass the time, he decided to busy himself with keeping good on his promise to Nikola. He managed to scrounge up a piece of paper and a little nun of a pencil, then took to designing the very basics of his new arm. 

 

Considering how badly charred it was, Thomas was sure Curie would need to amputate it soon. Risk of infection due to dead tissue and all that jazz, as Tapputi had said. He found himself completely absorbed in the project, the simple sketch soon becoming a complicated blueprint for articulated joints that were battle ready. He hadn’t even noticed when Darwin was swapped out in favor of Churchill, not until the leader cleared his throat rather loudly. 

 

“... I really hope you’re bloody happy with this war of yours,” Churchill grumbled, words muffled by the cigar he was chomping on. 

 

“And I hope you’re happy with yours as well,” Thomas replied, giving Churchill a dismissive wave of his hand as he went back to his design. If it bothered the Prime Minister to be so easily disregarded, he didn’t let it show. Or perhaps he did, Thomas wasn’t exactly paying him any mind as he worked. He didn’t pay anything much attention, actually, until there was a sudden clamor in the now crowded room. 

 

“Albert, give him some space-” Marie chastised, attempting to pull the excited boy off of a rather groggy Nikola. 

 

“Let the boy hug his dad,” Thomas called, finally standing and working the stiffness from his joints. “How are you feeling, my boy?” he asked, surprised when the others made room for him next to the bed. He hesitated for just a moment before he took up the silent offer, a little grin spreading across his face as he took in the sight of Nikola.

 

“... Much better than I’d expected, honestly,” Nikola admitted, choosing to ignore the “my boy” comment for the time being. At least until he could get his flushed face and racing heart under control. “I’m not sure how keen I am to have an arm designed by you, though, now that I’m a touch more lucid,” he said, eyes widening a bit when Thomas showed him the design. 

 

“Consider it my version of an extended olive branch,” Thomas said. Nikola’s head jerked up, surprise flitting across his face. “I believe you’ve got something a tad more important to worry about, haven’t you?” he added, grinning as he ruffled Albert’s hair. “Can’t have you getting hurt and giving your boy a scare, can we?” he asked. Albert’s face was the one that turned red now, caught somewhere between relief and embarrassment as the others began to tease him. 

 

“ _ From one father to another, Nikola, I wish you both the best in the future you forge together,” _

 


	30. Appreciation Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This got very sappy towards the end fjskdkfkf jdjdjd I also gave special shoutouts to the big three writers, and referenced some of my favorite (frankly underrated) artists in the fandom. Enjoy some mush

It feels odd to write in the first person, let alone as myself. Here we go, though! Howdy! It’s your newest source of angst, M_D_Wilson. I just wanted to give special thanks to everyone involved in Super Science Friends, from the creator to the directors to the animators to the voice actors. I can’t possibly imagine how much time, effort, and resources go into making every single scene of this amazing show.

 

To Brett: Thank you for creating and maintaining such a positive, tight-knit community. Even as your channel grew and your show got more exposure, you’ve still interacted with fans as often as possible. I’m really happy to know that Fallout inspired you enough to draw that first Soviet Space Ghoul!

 

To  **all** the voice actors (yes this includes Laurel, I’ll fight anyone who thinks her Tapputi voice wasn’t good): My  _ lord _ ! It’s such a delight to hear y’alls voices, and the dexterity some of y’all have!!! Speaking as someone who loves voice acting and always wanted to get into it, I can honestly say that the voice actors are amazing at what they do. To hear the different accents!!! And to hear them done so well!!!! I simply adore how y’all manage to take simple words and twist them up in such lovely ways. Not to mention those who sing!!!! Honestly, I enjoy the parody music videos far more than the original songs they draw inspiration from. Y’all rock!

 

To the animators: I adore y’all! Y’all work so hard to incorporate all the little background characters and funny little Easter eggs, not to mention the main cast themselves!! The animation is so fluid, whether it’s the anime special or the usual animation style. There’s a special place in my heart for the animation as a whole, but if I had to choose just one (1) thing I especially enjoyed… It’s whenever Darwin shifts into an animal!!! I can’t describe it very well, but there’s something so aesthetically pleasing about watching him morph like that. 

 

To the writers: Hey you. Yeah you. you’re all fucking amazing and the amount of effort y’all put in to include running gags makes me wanna cry. Seriously, the dialogue in this show and the jokes are just great! I find myself pausing and rewinding every now and then so I can hear a great joke just one more time. I’m not sure who it is exactly that does all the research for the team, but they’re great too! The attention to detail is extremely lovely for my inner history buff.

 

I know today was technically only for the people who work on the show,  _ b u t… _

 

To the fandom at large!!! 

 

Y’all know me, I couldn’t leave my friends out. 

 

To the artists, big and small: As I try to get back into drawing, I find that I appreciate the content you create even more than I originally did. Whether you use pencil and paper, digital watercolor, or create entire animatics/animations, you each have a very special place in my heart as content creators. I really hope that your art becomes more well known within the fandom, because  _ damn  _ do you deserve that.

 

To the writers: I know there’s really only three others besides myself that post frequently, but I honestly appreciate  _ everyone  _ that has ever had the courage to post something they’ve written. Whether it’s a simple joke fic or a Fic revolving around a relationship dynamic nobody would have previously considered, I’ve yet to come across a Fic in this fandom that I haven’t enjoyed in one way or another. I will give special thanks to the big three, though, because I’ve come to speak with them and feel very friendly with them.

 

To Penstrokes: I understand that your life gets in the way of writing. I want you in particular to know that your writing is of such high quality that I don’t care how often you update. It’s better to find a buried treasure later in life than it is for it to never be unearthed. Your many AUs give me so much inspiration! It’s nice to know there’s someone else who is as obsessed as I am with writing longfics. I hope you’re able to be content with all you publish, because lord knows it’s amazing stuff. I find myself as emotionally invested in your OCs as I do in the actual canon characters, and that’s something in and of itself to accomplish! I can’t wait to see what you’ve got in store for us, but at the same time I totally can wait because adult life is hard and you don’t always get the time to enjoy your hobbies.

 

To roidadidou: I know you don’t post Fic very frequently, but my lord is it worth it when you do! Even the more jokey stuff is an absolute delight to read! You’ve got this way of humanizing certain characters that get less development than I’d prefer, and it’s so damn refreshing to see them have the spotlight for once. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that you manage to add in that perfect tinge of sadness to what you write. It’s never quite as bold or brash as my “he fuckin ded, now we have an orphan” style, but that makes it feel so… So real! The emotional subtlety of your writing never fails to impress me. 

 

To thenonehater: Oh god, oh fuck. It’s that bitch, that amazing ass bitch that talks to me on the phone for h o u r s about our Fic. I think you’re added to 78-82% of all my documents, just so I can get your opinions and watch you keyboard smash whenever I write a particularly moving scene. Outside of that, though, I’m smitten with your writing. You have such amazing ideas and concepts, ideas that have slowly worked their way into my own headcanon (Dadsla mainly). Not to mention the fact that I owe any and all success I’ve had in writing to you! If it weren’t for you, I never would have known this funky cartoon existed. From the bottom of my heart, I want to say thank you. 

 

That actually leads me to my next point! 

 

To those who don’t produce art, who don’t write Fic, who are even too nervous to comment on the videos… 

 

Thank you! 

 

I’ve had the pleasure to speak to so many wonderful fans since thenonehater dragged me into the fandom, and it’s made every late night writing session I’ve done this month entirely worth it. I’ve managed to make friends with a good lot of you, or at least been able to put myself on positive terms with y’all. I know that might not seem like much, but I don’t really make friends. 

 

Not in the real world, and not online. For the longest time, thenonehater has been that exception. For reasons I don’t fully understand, I’ve never been able to communicate with people very well. I find that I have difficulties processing how I feel in the heat of the moment, and can only find a proper emotional reaction hours after the fact. As you could imagine, this makes forming meaningful and lasting relationships troublesome.

 

You guys have always been so nice to me, though, and have always supported me. Whether I’m having a good day or a bad day, as cheesy as this is, I know that I’ve always got the friends I’ve made through this fandom to talk to. Even when I don’t have anybody in my real life. I know this has already gotten overly emotional and rather personal on my end, but I really wanted to make it clear as to just how much I appreciate the fandom at large. 

 

Thank you for giving me a place where I feel comfortable enough  to explore concepts and feelings I’d never even dream of touching elsewhere. Thank you for listening to my retail woes, and the occasional family life issues. Whether you’ve offered sincere advice or sent a funny cat picture because you felt too awkward to comment on my situation directly, it has all been appreciated. 

 

Y’all have managed to make this fandom feel like a family, and I hope we never lose that feeling of community in the coming months and years. 

 

Here’s to the end of SSJ 2019, and here’s to hoping we haven’t blown the earth up when SSJ 2020 rolls around! I’m looking forward to another month of mayhem with you beautiful bastards. 

 

Oh, and last, but most certainly not least!!! 

 

A huge thank you to everyone who participated in this year’s SSJ!!! Whether you did all the days or only a couple, whether it’s your first time or your second go, it’s been an absolute honor to create content alongside you this month of June. 


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